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IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


Volume  V 


ON  THE  EVE 


f-S  AND  STORIES  OF 
TUKGENIEFF 


.   THE   EVE 


^"    ^!  ^-"yAN    BY        \ 


NEW  YORK 
iARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SON^ 

1903 


I 
r. 


(iS:: 


''"""^ttJn'' 


Thou  wilt  take  me  with  thee,  wilt  thou  not  ?  " 
From  a  drawing  by  E.  POTTHAST. 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN    TURGENIEFF 


ON  THE  EVE 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    RUSSIAN    BY 
ISABEL   F.   HAPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
Charles   Scribner's  Sons 


PREFACE 

In  a  preface  to  the  complete  edition  of  his  works, 
pubhshed  in  1880  (the  last  before  his  death), 
TurgenieiF  furnishes  some  extremely  interesting 
details  about  "  On  the  Eve,"  in  the  form  of  a  brief 
episode  from  his  literary  career.  This  episode 
runs  as  follows: 

"  I  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the  year  1855  (as  well  as 
the  three  years  preceding)  in  my  village  in  the  Mtzensk 
county,  Orel  Government.  Among  all  my  neighbours, 
the  one  with  whom  I  was  most  intimate  was  a  certain 
Vasfly  Karatyeeff,  a  young  landed  proprietor,  aged 
twenty-five.  KaratyeefF  was  a  romantic  man  and  an  en- 
thusiast, very  fond  of  music  and  literature,  gifted,  in  ad- 
dition, with  peculiar  humour,  amorous,  impressionable 
and  straightforward.  He  had  been  educated  In  the  Mos- 
cow University,  and  lived  in  the  country  with  his  father, 
who  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  hypochondria,  in  the 
nature  of  insanity,  every  three  years.  KaratyeefF  had  a 
sister, — a  very  remarkable  being, — who  also  ended  by 
going  Insane.  All  these  persons  died  long  ago; — that  Is 
why  I  speak  so  freely  of  them.  KaratyeefF  forced  him- 
self to  attend  to  the  farming,  of  which  he  understood 
absolutely  nothing,  and  was  particularly  fond  of  reading 
and  of  conversing  with  persons  who  were  sympathetic  to 
him.     Very  few  such  people  were  to  be  found.      The 

V 


PREFACE 

neighbours  did  not  like  him,  because  of  his  free-thinking 
and  his  mocking  tongue: — moreover,  they  were  afraid 
to  introduce  him  to  their  wives  and  daughters,  because 
he  had  a  well-established  reputation — in  reality  not  in 
the  least  deserved  by  him, — of  a  dangerous  Lovelace. 
He  came  frequently  to  my  house,  and  his  visits  consti- 
tuted almost  my  sole  recreation  and  pleasure  at  that 
period,  which  was  not  a  very  cheerful  one  for  me. 

"  When  the  Crimean  war  broke  out,  and  recruiting  be- 
gan among  the  nobility,  under  the  name  of  the  militia, 
the  nobles  of  our  county  who  disliked  KaratyeefF  con- 
spired among  themselves,  as  the  saying  is,  to  rid  them- 
selves of  him, — and  elected  him  the  commanding  officer 
of  that  militia  company.  On  learning  of  his  appoint- 
ment, KaratyeefF  came  to  me.  I  was  immediately  struck 
by  his  perturbed  and  alarmed  aspect.  His  first  words 
were :  '  I  shall  not  return  thence ;  I  shall  not  survive  it ; 
I  shall  die  there.' 

"  He  could  not  boast  of  robust  health :  his  lungs  ached 
constantly,  and  he  was  of  frail  constitution.  Although 
I  feared  for  him  all  the  hardships  of  the  campaign,  still 
I  endeavoured  to  banish  his  gloomy  forebodings  and  be- 
gan to  assure  him  that  before  a  year  had  passed  we 
should  meet  again  in  our  lonely  nook,  should  see  each 
other,  and  chat  and  discuss  as  of  old.  But  he  obstinately 
persisted  in  his  view ;  and  after  a  rather  prolonged  stroll 
in  my  park,  he  suddenly  turned  to  me  with  the  following 
words : 

"  *  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you.  You  know  that 
I  spent  several  years  in  Moscow,  but  you  do  not  know 
that  I  had  an  experience  there  which  aroused  in  me  the 
desire  to  narrate  it — both  to  myself  and  to  others.    I  have 


PREFACE 

tried  to  do  so;  but  I  have  been  forced  to  the  conviction 
that  I  possess  no  literary  talent  whatsoever — and  the 
whole  thing  has  ended  in  my  writing  it  down  in  this 
copy-book,  which  I  commit  to  your  hands.' 

*'  So  saying,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  manu- 
script book,  containing  about  fifty  pages.  '  I  am  so 
firmly  convinced,'  he  went  on,  '  despite  all  your  friendly 
consolation,  that  I  shall  not  return  from  the  Crimea,  that 
I  beg  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  take  these  rough  sketches, 
and  make  something  out  of  them  which  shall  not  vanish 
without  leaving  a  trace,  as  I  shall ! ' 

"  I  tried  to  refuse ;  but  perceiving  that  my  refusal 
pained  him,  I  promised  to  fulfil  his  wish,  and  that  same 
evening,  after  Karatyeeff 's  departure,  I  glanced  through 
the  book  which  he  had  left  me.  There,  in  hasty  outlines, 
was  sketched  that  which  afterward  constituted  the  sub- 
stance of  '  On  the  Eve.'  The  story  was  not  finished, 
however,  and  broke  off  abruptly. 

"  Karatyeeff,  during  his  residence  in  Moscow,  had 
fallen  in  love  with  a  young  girl,  who  reciprocated  his 
affection ;  but,  on  making  acquaintance  with  a  Bulgarian 
named  Katranoff  (a  person  who,  as  I  afterward  learned, 
had  formerly  been  very  famous,  and  is  not  forgotten  to 
this  day  in  his  native  land),  had  fallen  in  love  with  him, 
and  gone  off  with  him  to  Bulgaria,  where  he  soon  died. 
— The  story  of  this  love  was  given  with  sincerity  but  in- 
artistically.  Karatyeeff  really  had  not  been  born  for 
literature.  One  scene  alone,  namely,  the  jaunt  to  Tzar- 
itzyno,  was  limned  with  a  good  deal  of  animation — and 
in  my  romance  I  have  preserved  its  chief  features. 

"  Truth  to  tell,  at  that  time  I  was  turning  over  other 
images  in  my  head :  I  was  preparing  to  write  '  Rudin ' ; 

•  • 

vu 


PREFACE 

but  the  task  which  I  afterward  tried  to  fulfil  in  '  On  the 
Eve  '  started  up  before  me  from  time  to  time.  The  figure 
of  the  principal  heroine,  Elena,  which  was  then  a  new 
type  in  Russian  life,  was  pretty  clearly  defined  in  my 
imagination ;  but  a  hero  was  lacking, — the  sort  of  person 
to  whom  Elena,  with  her  confused  but  powerful  impulse 
toward  freedom,  could  give  herself.  On  perusing  Ka- 
ratyeeff 's  book  I  involuntarily  exclaimed :  '  Here  's  the 
hero  whom  I  have  been  seeking!' — There  was  none  of 
that  sort,  as  yet,  among  contemporary  Russians. 

"  When,  on  the  following  day,  I  saw  KaratyeeflP,  I 
not  only  repeated  my  promise  to  fulfil  his  request,  but 
I  thanked  him  for  having  rescued  me  from  a  difficulty, 
and  cast  a  ray  of  light  into  my  hitherto  dark  meditations 
and  inventions.  KaratyeefF  was  delighted,  and  repeating 
once  more,  '  Don't  let  all  that  perish,'  he  went  oiF  to 
serve  in  the  Crimea,  whence,  to  my  profound  regret,  he 
did  not  return.  His  forebodings  were  realized.  He  died 
of  typhus  in  camp  near  the  Putrid  Sea,  where  our  Orel 
militia  was  stationed, — in  earthen  huts, — never  seeing  a 
single  enemy  during  the  whole  period  of  the  war,  and 
nevertheless  losing,  from  various  maladies,  about  one- 
half  of  its  men. 

"  But  I  deferred  the  execution  of  my  promise :  I  busied 
myself  with  other  work ;  on  completing  '  Riidin  '  I  began 
on  '  A  Nobleman's  Nest ' ;  and  only  in  the  winter  of 
'58-'59,  on  finding  myself  again  in  the  same  village  and 
the  same  surroundings  as  at  the  time  of  my  acquaintance 
with  Karatyeeff",  did  I  feel  that  the  slumbering  impres- 
sions were  beginning  to  stir.  I  hunted  up  and  re-read 
his  copy-book;  the  figures  which  had  retreated  into  the 
background  again  advanced  into  the  foreground — and  I 

•  •  • 

Vlll 


PREFACE 

immediately  took  up  my  pen.  A  number  of  my  friends 
knew  at  the  time  all  which  I  have  now  related ;  but  I  re- 
gard it  as  my  duty  now,  on  the  definitive  publication  of 
my  romances,  to  communicate  it  to  the  public  also,  and 
thereby  pay  at  least  a  tardy  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
my  poor  young  friend. 

"  And  this  is  how  a  Bulgarian  became  the  hero  of 
my  romance.  But  the  Messrs.  Critics  have  unani- 
mously reproached  me  for  the  artificiality  and  lif elessness 
of  that  character,  have  been  surprised  at  my  strange 
caprice  in  selecting  a  Bulgarian  in  particular,  and  have 
asked :  '  Why  ?  For  what  reason  ?  What 's  the  sense  of 
it.?  ' — The  casket  has  simply  been  opened;  but  I  did  not 
consider  it  necessary,  at  that  time,  to  enter  into  further 
explanations." 

Assuredly,  no  one  of  TurgeniefF's  books  raised 
a  greater  storm,  or  provoked  so  diametrically  op- 
posite opinions  from  the  critics.  Some  declared 
that  InsarofF  was  nothing  but  another  Riidin; 
others  that  he  was  the  precise  antithesis  of 
Rudin.  Some  admired  his  reticence,  his 
strength,  the  high  relief  in  which  he  was  depicted ; 
others  called  him  "  shadowy,"  could  detect  no 
force  or  attraction  in  him,  and  jeered  at  his  having 
captivated  Elena  by  his  "  heroic  "  trip  of  forty 
miles,  on  behalf  of  his  compatriots,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, his  silly  feat  with  the  German  at  Tzari- 
tzyno.  Opinions  as  to  Elena  were  equally  diverse. 
The  point  about  her  which  seemed  particularly  to 
irritate  society  and  the  critics  was  her  abandon- 

ix 


PREFACE 

ment  of  her  home  (uncongenial  as  it  was),  and 
the  bad  example  which  she  thereby  set  to  other 
Russian  girls.  The  special  thing  which  fairly  in- 
furiated many  critics  was  that  Turgenieff  should 
have  "  imported  "  a  hero  from  outside  of  Russia, 
—and  from  Bulgaria,  of  all  places!— as  though 
no  men  worthy  of  a  serious  maiden's  love,  or 
no  fine  men,  were  to  be  found  at  home.  Their 
acerbity  on  this  score  ends  by  amusing  one  who 
peruses  the  contemporary  and  later  criticisms. 
The  author's  explanation  quoted  above  practically 
nullifies  a  great  deal  of  what  was  written  about 
Elena,  as  well  as  about  Insaroif,  of  a  carping 
character. 

The  one  thing  which  not  one  of  them  thought 
of  saying— a  woman  would  have  said  it  probably, 
but  the  critics  were  all  men— is:  that  with  Elena's 
temperament  and  surroundings  it  was  inevitable 
that  she  should  fall  in  love  with  InsarofF,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  says  almost  nothing,  is  repre- 
sented as  merely  preparing  to  act,  and  actually 
does  nothing  except  in  the  two  trivial  instances 
cited.  This  proposition  carries  with  it  the  corol- 
lary that  hero  and  heroine  are  as  faithful  to  life 
as  are  the  secondary  characters  in  the  book,  whom 
the  critics  all  praised  for  their  fidelity  to  nature 
and  as  genuine  artistic  creations. 

The  book  was  first  pubhshed  in  1860. 

I.  F.  H. 


ON  THE  EVE: 

A  ROMANCE 

(1859) 


ON  THE  EVE: 

A  ROMANCE 


IN  the  shade  of  a  lofty  linden-tree,  on  the  bank 
of  the  Moscow  River,  not  far  from  Kiin- 
tzovo,  two  young  men  were  lying  on  the  grass,  on 
one  of  the  very  hottest  summer  days  of  the  year 
1853.  One,  three-and-twenty  years  of  age,  judg- 
ing from  his  appearance,  of  lofty  stature,  swar- 
thy of  visage,  with  a  pointed  and  somewhat 
crooked  nose,  a  high  forehead,  and  a  repressed 
smile  on  his  broad  lips,  was  lying  on  his  back, 
and  thoughtfully  gazing  into  the  distance,  with 
his  small,  grey  eyes  screwed  up;  the  other  was 
lying  on  his  chest,  with  his  curly,  fair-haired  head 
propped  on  both  hands,  and  was  also  gazing  at 
something  in  the  distance.  He  was  three  years 
older  than  his  comrade,  but  seemed  much 
younger:  his  moustache  was  barely  sprouting, 
and  a  light  down  curled  on  his  chin.  There  was 
something  childishly  pretty,  something  allur- 
ingly elegant,  in  the  small  features  of  his  fresh, 
round  face,  in  his  sweet,  brown  eyes,  his  hand- 
some, full  lips,  and  small,  white  hands.  Every- 
thing about  him  exhaled  the  happy  gaiety  of 

3 


ON  THE  EVE 

health,  breathed  forth  youth — ^the  unconcern, 
self-confidence,  self-indulgence,  and  charm  of 
youth.  He  rolled  his  eyes  about,  and  smiled, 
and  put  his  head  on  one  side  as  small  boys  do 
when  they  know  that  people  like  to  look  at  them. 
He  wore  an  ample  white  coat,  in  the  nature  of  a 
blouse ;  a  blue  kerchief  encircled  his  slender  neck, 
a  crumpled  straw  hat  lay  upon  the  grass  beside 
him. 

In  comparison  with  him,  his  companion  ap- 
peared to  be  an  old  man,  and  no  one  would  have 
thought,  to  look  at  his  angular  form,  that  he  was 
enjoying  himself,  that  he  was  at  his  ease.  He 
was  lying  in  an  awkward  posture ;  his  large  head, 
broad  above  and  pointed  below,  was  uncouthly 
set  upon  his  long  neck;  uncouthness  was  ex- 
pressed by  every  movement  of  his  arms,  of  his 
body,  clothed  in  a  tight-fitting,  short  black  coat, 
of  his  long  legs,  with  elevated  knees,  resembling 
the  hind  legs  of  a  grasshopper.  Nevertheless, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  recognise  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  well-bred  man;  the  stamp  of  "good- 
breeding  "  was  perceptible  all  over  his  ungainly 
person,  and  his  countenance,  which  was  homely 
and  even  somewhat  ridiculous,  expressed  a  habit 
of  thought  and  kindliness.  His  name  was  Andrei 
Petrovitch  BersenefF ;  his  comrade,  the  fair-haired 
young  man,  was  named  Shiibin,  Pavel  Yakov- 
litch. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  lie  on  thy  breast,  as  I  am 

4. 


ON  THE  EVE 

doing?"  began  Shiibin.  "It's  much  better  so. 
Especially  when  you  stick  your  feet  in  the  air, 
and  click  your  heels  together — this  way.  The 
grass  is  just  under  your  nose:  it's  tiresome  to 
gaze  at  the  landscape — watch  some  fat  little  bee- 
tle crawl  up  a  blade  of  grass,  or  an  ant  bustling 
about.  Really  it 's  much  nicer.  But  thou  hast 
assumed  a  sort  of  pseudo-classical  pose,  precisely 
like  a  ballet-dancer  when  she  leans  her  elbows  on 
a  cardboard  cliff.  Remember,  that  thou  hast 
now  a  perfect  right  to  rest.  It 's  no  joke  to  have 
graduated  third  in  the  class !  Take  your  rest,  sir ; 
cease  to  strain  yourself;  stretch  out  your  limbs!  " 

Shubin  enunciated  the  whole  of  this  speech 
through  his  nose,  half -languidly,  half -jestingly 
(spoiled  children  talk  in  that  manner  to  the 
friends  of  the  family,  who  bring  them  sugar- 
plums), and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he 
went  on: 

"  What  surprises  me  most  of  all,  in  the  ants, 
beetles,  and  other  worthy  insects,  is  their  wonder- 
ful seriousness;  they  run  to  and  fro  with  counte- 
nances as  grave  as  though  their  lives  were  of 
some  importance !  Why,  good  gracious,  man,  the 
lord  of  creation,  the  most  exalted  of  beings,  may 
be  looking  at  them,  but  they  care  nothing  for 
him;  perhaps,  even,  a  gnat  may  alight  upon  the 
nose  of  the  lord  of  creation,  and  begin  to  utilise 
him  as  food.  This  is  insulting.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  what  respect  is  their  life  inferior  to  ours  ? 

5 


ON  THE  EVE 

And  why  should  n't  they  put  on  airs  of  impor- 
tance if  we  permit  ourselves  to  be  pompous? 
Come  now,  philosopher,  solve  this  riddle  for  me! 
Why  dost  thou  maintain  silence?    Hey?  " 

"  What  ..."  ejaculated  Berseneff,  coming 
to  himself  with  a  start. 

"What!"  repeated  Shubin.  "Thy  friend 
expounds  profound  thoughts  to  thee,  and  thou 
dost  not  listen  to  him." 

"  I  was  admiring  the  view.  Look,  how  hotly 
yonder  fields  are  blazing  in  the  sunlight!  "  (Ber- 
seneff lisped  a  little. ) 

"  A  good  bit  of  color  that," — replied  Shubin. 
— "  In  a  word,  it  is  nature!  " 

Berseneff  shook  his  head.  "  Thou  shouldst  be 
more  enthusiastic  over  all  this  than  I  am.  It 's 
in  thy  line:  thou  art  an  artist." 

"  No,  sir;  it 's  not  in  my  line," — retorted  Shii- 
bin,  and  pushed  his  hat  back  upon  the  nape  of 
his  neck. — "  I  'm  a  butcher,  sir;  my  business  is 
flesh,  modelling  flesh,  shoulders,  feet,  hands,  but 
here  there  are  no  contours,  there  is  no  finish,  it 
melts  off  in  all  directions.  .  .  Go,  seize  it  if  you 
can!" 

"  Why,  precisely  therein  lies  its  beauty," — re- 
marked Berseneff.  "  By  the  way,  hast  thou  fin- 
ished thy  bas-relief?  " 

"Which  one?" 

"  The  child  with  the  goat." 

"Damn  it!  damn  it!  damn  it!  "—exclaimed 

6 


ON  THE  EVE 

Shiibin,  in  a  drawl. — "  I  've  been  looking  at  the 
real  thing,  at  the  old  masters,  at  the  antique,  and 
I  've  smashed  my  miserable  stuff.  Thou  pointest 
out  nature  to  me,  and  sayest:  '  Therein  lies 
beauty.'  Of  course,  there  is  beauty  in  every- 
thing, there  's  beauty  even  in  thy  nose,  but  one 
can't  run  after  every  bit  of  beauty.  The  an- 
cients— ^why,  even  they  did  n't  run  after  it ;  it 
descended  of  itself  into  their  works,  God  knows 
whence,  perhaps  from  heaven.  The  whole  world 
belonged  to  them;  we  cannot  expand  ourselves 
so  widely;  our  arms  are  too  short.  We  fling  out 
a  bait  at  one  tiny  point,  and  then  we  watch  for 
results.  If  there  's  a  bite,  bravo !  if  there  is  no 
bite " 

Shiibin  thrust  out  his  tongue. 

"  Stop,  stop," — responded  Berseneff .  "  That 
is  a  paradox.  If  thou  art  not  in  sympathy  with 
beauty,  if  thou  dost  not  love  it  wherever  thou  en- 
counterest  it,  it  will  not  give  itself  to  thee  in 
thine  art.  If  a  fine  view,  if  fine  music,  have  no- 
thing to  say  to  thy  soul, — I  mean,  if  thou  art  not 
in  sympathy  with  them  .  .  .  ." 

"  Ekh,  get  out,  thou  sympathiser!  " — retorted 
Shiibin  hastily,  and  broke  into  a  laugh  at  his  own 
newly-coined  word,  but  Berseneff  became  pen- 
sive.— "  No,  my  dear  fellow," — resumed  Shiibin, 
"  thou  philosopher-sage,  third  in  thy  class  at 
the  Moscow  University,  't  is  a  terrible  thing  to 
argue  with  thee,  especially  for  me,  a  student  who 

7 


ON  THE  EVE 

did  not  finish  his  course;  but  just  let  me  tell  thee 
something:  with  the  exception  of  my  art,  I  love 
beauty  only  in  women  ....  in  young  girls,  and 
that  only  since  quite  recently.  ..." 

He  rolled  over  on  his  back,  and  clasped  his 
hands  under  his  head. 

A  few  moments  passed  in  silence.  The  still- 
ness of  the  sultry  midday  weighed  heavily  upon 
the  radiant  and  slumbering  earth. 

"  By  the  way,  speaking  of  women," — began 
Shiibin  again. — "  Why  does  n't  somebody  take 
Stakhoff  in  hand?  Hast  thou  seen  him  in  Mos- 
cow? " 

"  No." 

"  The  old  fellow  has  gone  quite  out  of  his 
mind.  He  sits  for  whole  days  together  at  the 
house  of  his  Augustina  Christianovna, — he  is  hor- 
ribly bored,  but  there  he  sits.  They  gaze  at  each 
other,  so  stupidly.  ...  It 's  repulsive  even  to 
look  at.  Just  think  of  it!  With  what  a  family 
God  has  blessed  that  man:  but  no,  give  him  his 
Augustina  Christianovna!  I  don't  know  of  any- 
thing more  hideous  than  her  duck -like  physiog- 
nomy !  The  other  day,  I  modelled  a  caricature  of 
her,  in  Dantesque  style.  It  turned  out  quite  well. 
I  '11  show  it  to  thee." 

'  "  And  the  bust  of  Elena  Pavlovna," — inquired 
Berseneff, — "  is  that  progressing?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  not  progressing. 
That  face  is  enough  to  drive  one  to  desperation. 

8 


ON  THE  EVE 

You  look,  and  the  lines  are  pure,  severe,  regular ; 
apparently,  there  is  no  difficulty  about  catching 
the  likeness.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  ...  It  won't 
yield  itself,  any  more  than  a  treasure  will  drop 
into  your  hands.  Hast  thou  noticed  how  she  lis- 
tens? Not  a  single  feature  moves,  only  the  ex- 
pression of  her  glance  changes  incessantly, — and 
that  alters  the  whole  face.  What  is  a  sculptor 
to  do,  and  a  bad  sculptor  into  the  bargain  ?  She  's 
a  wonderful  being  ....  a  strange  being," — ^he 
added,  after  a  brief  pause. 

*'  She  is  a  wonderful  girl," — BersenefF  re- 
peated after  him. 

"  And  the  daughter  of  Nikolai  Artemievitch 
StakhofF!  After  that,  just  talk  about  blood, 
about  race!  And  the  amusing  thing  is,  that  she 
really  is  his  daughter,  she  resembles  him,  and 
resembles  her  mother,  Anna  Vasilievna.  I  re- 
spect Anna  Vasilievna  with  all  my  heart, — she  is 
my  benefactress :  but  she  's  a  hen,  all  the  same. 
Where  did  Elena  get  that  soul  of  hers?  Who 
kindled  that  fire  ?  There  's  another  riddle  for 
th©e,  philosopher!  " 

But  the  "  philosopher,"  as  before,  made  no  re- 
ply. In  general,  Berseneff  did  not  sin  through 
loquacity,  and,  when  he  spoke,  expressed  himself 
awkwardly,  hesitated,  gesticulated  unnecessarily: 
but  on  this  occasion  a  special  sort  of  stillness  had 
descended  upon  his  spirit,  a  stillness  akin  to 
weariness  and  sadness.    He  had  recently  settled 

9 


ON  THE  EVE 

in  the  country,  after  a  long  and  difficult  task 
which  had  occupied  him  for  several  hours  every 
day.  Inactivity,  the  softness  and  purity  of  the 
air,  the  consciousness  of  having  attained  his  ob- 
ject, the  whimsical  and  careless  conversation  with 
his  friend,  the  suddenly-evoked  image  of  a  be- 
loved being,  all  these  varied  but,  at  the  same  time, 
in  some  way  similar  impressions  were  merged  to- 
gether within  him  into  one  general  feeling,  which 

soothed,  agitated  him,  and  enfeebled  him 

He  was  a  very  nervous  young  man.  It  was 
cool  and  quiet  beneath  the  linden-tree;  the  flies 
and  bees  which  fluttered  about  in  its  shadow 
seemed  to  hum  in  a  more  subdued  manner;  the 
clean,  fine  grass,  of  emerald  hue,  with  no  golden 
gleams,  did  not  wave;  the  tall  blades  stood  mo- 
tionless as  though  enchanted;  the  tiny  clusters 
of  yellow  blossoms  on  the  lower  branches  of 
the  linden  hung  like  dead  things.  Their  sweet 
perfume  penetrated  into  the  very  depths  of  the 
breast  with  every  breath,  but  the  breast  inhaled 
it  willingly.  Far  away,  beyond  the  river,  as  far 
as  the  horizon,  everything  was  glittering  and 
blazing;  from  time  to  time  a  little  breeze  swept 
past,  and  broke  and  increased  the  scintillation; 
a  radiant  vapour  quivered  over  the  earth.  No 
birds  were  to  be  heard:  they  do  not  sing  in  the 
hours  of  sultry  heat;  but  the  grasshoppers  were 
shrilling  everywhere,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  lis- 
ten to  that  hot  sound  of  life,  as  one  sat  in  the 

10 


ON  THE  EVE 

shade,  at  ease :  it  inclined  to  slumber,  and  evoked 
dreaminess. 

"  Hast  thou  observed," — began  BersenefF  sud- 
denly, aiding  his  speech  with  gesticulations  of  his 
arms, — "  what  a  strange  feeling  Nature  arouses 
in  us?  Everything  about  her  is  so  full,  so  clear, 
I  mean  to  say,  so  satisfying  in  itself,  and  we 
understand  this,  and  admire  it,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  she  always — at  least  in  my  own  case — causes 
a  certain  uneasiness,  a  certain  agitation,  even 
sadness.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  Are  we 
more  powerfully  conscious  in  her  presence,  face 
to  face  with  her,  of  all  our  own  incompleteness, 
our  lack  of  clearness,  or  is  that  satisfaction  where- 
with she  contents  herself  not  enough  for  us,  while 
the  other — I  mean  the  one  which  she  does  not 
possess — is  necessary  for  us?  " 

"  H'm,"— replied  Shiibin,— "  I '11  tell  thee, 
Andrei  Petrovitch,  whence  all  this  arises.  Thou 
hast  described  the  sensations  of  the  solitary  man, 
who  does  not  live,  but  merely  looks  on,  and 
swoons  in  ecstasy.  What 's  the  good  of  looking 
on?  Live  thyself,  and  thou  wilt  be  a  fine,  dashing 
fellow.  Knock  at  the  door  of  Nature  as  thou 
wilt,  she  will  not  respond  with  a  single  compre- 
hensible word,  because  she  is  dumb.  She  will 
ring  and  grieve,  like  the  chord  of  a  lyre,  but  thou 
must  not  expect  any  song  from  her.  A  living 
soul — and  a  woman's  soul  in  particular — will  re- 
spond.    Therefore,  my  noble  friend,  I  counsel 

11 


ON  THE  EVE 

thee  to  provide  thyself  with  a  friend  of  the  heart, 
and  all  thy  melancholy  sensations  will  immedi- 
ately vanish.  That 's  what  we  '  need,'  as  thou 
art  wont  to  say.  Seest  thou,  that  agitation,  that 
sadness,  is  simply  a  sort  of  hunger.  Give  the 
stomach  the  right  sort  of  food,  and  everything 
will  reduce  itself  to  order  at  once.  Take  thy 
place  in  space,  be  a  body,  my  dear  fellow.  And, 
after  all,  what  is  Nature,  and  what 's  the  good  of 
her?  Just  listen:  Love  .  .  .  what  a  mighty,  burn- 
ing word!  Nature  .  .  .  what  a  cold,  scholas- 
tic expression!  And  then"  (Shubin  began  to 
chant):  "'Long  life  to  Marya  Petrovna!'  or 
no,"  he  added,  "  not  to  Marya  Petrovna,  but  that 
makes  no  difference!    Vous  me  comprenez" 

BersenefF  half  sat  up,  and  propped  his  chin 
on  his  clasped  hands. — "  Why  this  raillery," — he 
said,  without  looking  at  his  companion, — "  why 
this  jeering?  Yes,  thou  art  right:  Love  is  a  great 
word,  a  great  feeling.  .  .  .  But  of  what  sort  of 
love  art  thou  speaking?  " 

Shubin  also  half  sat  up. — "  Of  what  love?  Of 
whatever  sort  you  please,  if  only  it  be  present. 
I  will  confess  to  thee  that,  in  my  opinion,  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  different  sorts  of  love.  .  .  . 
If  thou  hast  loved  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  have,  with  all  my  heart," — interjected  Ber- 
seneff. 

"  Well,  yes,  that  is  a  matter  of  course :  the  soul 
is  not  an  apple:  it  cannot  be  divided.     If  thou 

12  I 


ON  THE  EVE 

hast  been  in  love,  thou  art  in  the  right.  And  I 
had  no  intention  to  jeer.  I  have  such  tenderness 
in  my  heart  now,  it  is  so  softened  ....  I  merely 
wished  to  explain  why  nature,  according  to  thee, 
has  that  effect  upon  us.  Because  she  rouses  in 
us  the  necessity  for  love,  and  is  not  able  to  satisfy 
it.  She  impels  us  gently  to  other,  living  em- 
braces, but  we  do  not  understand  her,  and  we 
expect  something  from  her  herself.  Akh,  An- 
drei, Andrei,  it  is  beautiful.  This  sun,  this  sky, 
everything,  everything  around  us,  is  very  beauti- 
ful, but  thou  art  sad ;  but  if,  at  this  moment,  thou 
heldest  in  thy  hand  the  hand  of  a  beloved  woman, 
if  that  hand  and  the  whole  woman  were  thine, 
if  thou  wert  even  gazing  with  her  eyes,  feeling 
not  with  thine  own  solitary  feeling,  but  with 
her  feeling, — Nature  would  not  inspire  thee  with 
sadness,  Andrei,  and  thou  wouldst  not  begin  to 
notice  her  beauty:  she  herself  would  rejoice  and 
sing,  she  would  join  in  thy  hymn,  because  thou 
wouldst  then  have  endowed  her,  the  dumb,  with 
a  tongue! " 

Shiibin  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  strode  back  and 
forth  a  couple  of  times,  but  BersenefF  bowed  his 
head,  and  a  slight  flush  suffused  his  face. 

"  I  do  not  entirely  agree  with  thee," — he  be- 
gan:— "Nature  is  not  always  hinting  at  .  .  at 

love  to  us."     (He  could  not  utter  the 

word  "  love  "  at  once.)  "  She  also  menaces  us: 
she  reminds  us  of  .  .  .  terrible  .  .  .  yes,  of  un- 

13 


ON  THE  EVE 

attainable  mysteries.  Is  not  she  bound  to  engulf 
us,  is  not  she  incessantly  devouring  us?  In  her 
are  both  life  and  death;  and  in  her  death  speaks 
as  loudly  as  life." 

"  And  in  love  there  is  both  life  and  death," — 
interposed  Shubin. 

"  And  moreover," — went  on  Berseneff , — 
*'  when  I,  for  example,  stand  in  springtime,  in 
the  forest,  in  a  green  copse,  when  I  fancy  I  hear 
the  sounds  of  Oberon's  horn"  (Berseneff  was 
a  little  shamefaced  when  he  had  uttered  these 
words) — "is  that — " 

"  It  is  a  thirst  for  love,  a  thirst  for  happiness, 
nothing  else!  " — exclaimed  Shubin,  "I,  too,  know 
those  sounds,  I  know  that  languor  and  anticipa- 
tion which  invade  the  soul  beneath  the  shadows 
of  the  forest,  in  its  bosom;  or,  in  the  evening,  in 
the  open  fields,  when  the  sun  is  setting  and  the 
vapour  is  rising  from  the  river  behind  the  bushes. 
But  from  the  forest  and  from  the  river,  and  from 
the  earth,  and  from  the  sky,  from  every  Httle 
cloud,  from  every  blade  of  grass,  I  expect,  I  de- 
mand happiness,  in  everything  I  feel  its  ap- 
proach, I  hear  its  summons.  '  My  god  is  a  bright 
and  merry  god ! '  That  is  the  way  I  once  began  a 
poem ;  confess :  it  was  a  magnificent  first  Hne,  but 
I  could  n't  possibly  match  it  with  a  second.  Hap- 
piness !  happiness !  until  life  is  over,  so  long  as  all 
our  members  are  in  our  power,  so  long  as  we  are 
going  not  down  hill  but  up  hill!  Devil  take  it!  " 

14) 


ON  THE  EVE 

— continued  Shiibin,  with  sudden  fervour — *'  we 
are  young,  we  are  not  monsters,  we  are  not 
stupid:  let  us  conquer  happiness  for  ourselves! " 

He  shook  his  curls,  and  glanced  upward  in  a 
self-confident,  almost  challenging  manner  at  the 
sky.    BersenefF  looked  at  him. 

"  Is  there  really  nothing  higher  than  happi- 
ness? " — he  said  softly. 

"  What,  for  example?  " — inquired  Shiibin,  and 
paused. 

"  Why,  here,  for  example,  thou  and  I,  as  thou 
sayest,  are  young;  we  are  good  fellows,  let  us 
assume ;  each  of  us  wishes  happiness  for  himself. 
....  But  is  that  word  '  happiness '  the  sort  of 
word  which  would  have  united  us,  would  have 
kindled  us  to  flame,  would  have  made  us  offer 
each  other  our  hands?  Is  it  not  an  egotistical, 
a  distintegrating  word,  I  mean  to  say?  " 

"And  dost  thou  know  any  words  which  do 
unite?" 

*'  Yes, — and  there  are  not  a  few  of  them ;  and 
thou  knowest  them  also." 

"  You  don't  say  so?  What  words  are  they?  " 

"  Why,  take  art,  for  instance, — since  thou  art 
an  artist, — fatherland,  science,  liberty,  justice." 

"  And  love?  " — asked  Shiibin. 

"  Love,  also,  is  a  word  which  unites ;  but  not 
that  love  for  which  thou  art  now  thirsting:  not 
love  as  enjoyment,  but  love  as  sacrifice." 

Shiibin  frowned. 

15 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  That 's  all  right  for  the  Germans ;  I  want  to 
love  for  myself;  I  want  to  be  number  one." 

"  Number  one," — repeated  BersenefF. — "  But 
it  strikes  me  that  the  whole  significance  of  life 
consists  in  placing  one's  self  as  number  two." 

"  If  everybody  were  to  act  as  thou  counsel- 
lest," — remarked  Shiibin,  with  a  lugubrious 
grimace, — "  nobody  on  earth  would  eat  pine- 
apples :  everybody  would  leave  them  for  some  one 
else." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  pineapples  are  not  in- 
dispensable; however,  have  no  apprehensions: 
there  will  always  be  people  to  be  found  who 
would  like  to  take  the  bread  out  of  other  people's 
mouths." 

The  two  friends  remained  silent  for  a  while. 

"  I  met  Insaroff  again  the  other  day," — began 
Berseneff : — "  I  invited  him  to  call  on  me;  I  am 
very  anxious  to  introduce  him  to  thee  ....  and 
to  the  StakhofFs." 

"  What  Insaroff  is  that?  Akh,  yes,  that  Ser- 
vian or  Bulgarian,  of  whom  thou  hast  spoken 
to  me?  Is  n't  it  he  who  has  put  all  those  philo- 
sophical thoughts  into  thy  head?  " 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  Is  he  a  remarkable  individual? " 

"  Yes." 

"Clever,  gifted?" 

"  Clever?  .  .  .  Gifted?  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
think  so." 

16 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  No?    What  is  there  remarkable  about  him?  " 

"  Thou  wilt  see.  But  now,  I  think  it  is  time  to 
be  going,  Anna  Vasilievna  is  expecting  us,  I 
fancy.    What  time  is  it?" 

"  Two  o'clock.  Come  along.  How  stifling 
it  is!  This  conversation  has  set  all  my  blood 
aflame.  And  there  was  a  moment  when  thou, 
also  .  .  .  I  'm  not  an  artist  for  nothing:  I  have 
taken  note  of  everything.  Confess,  a  woman 
occupies  thy  mind?  .  .  ." 

Shiibin  tried  to  peer  into  Bersenefl"s  face,  but 
the  latter  turned  away,  and  emerged  from  be- 
neath the  shade  of  the  linden.  Shiibin  followed 
him,  treading  with  graceful  swagger  on  his  tiny 
feet.  BersenefF  moved  clumsily,  raised  his  shoul- 
ders high  as  he  walked,  thrust  forward  his  neck: 
but,  notwithstanding  this,  he  appeared  a  better- 
bred  man  than  Shiibin,  more  of  a  gentleman,  we 
should  have  said,  had  not  that  word  become  so 
trite  among  us. 


17 


II 

The  young  men  descended  to  the  Moscow  River, 
and  strolled  along  its  banks.  The  water  exhaled 
coolness,  and  the  soft  plash  of  the  little  waves 
caressed  the  ear. 

"  I  should  like  to  take  another  bath," — re- 
marked Shubin, — "  but  I  'm  afraid  of  being  late. 
Look  at  the  river:  it  is  fairly  beckoning  to  us. 
The  ancient  Greeks  would  have  recognised  it  as 
a  nymph.  But  we  are  not  Greeks,  O  nymph! — 
we  are  thick-skinned  Scythians." 

"  We  have  water-nymphs  also,"  remarked  Ber- 
senefF. 

"  Get  out  with  your  water-nymphs!  What 
use  have  I,  a  sculptor,  for  those  offspring  of  a 
confused,  cold  fancy,  those  images  born  in  the 
reek  of  a  peasant's  hut,  in  the  gloom  of  winter 
nights?  I  must  have  light,  space.  .  .  When, 
my  God,  shall  I  go  to  Italy?    When  .  .  .  ." 

"  That  is,  thou  intendest  to  say,  to  Little  Rus- 
sia? " 

"  Shame  upon  thee,  Andrei  Petrovitch,  to  re- 
proach me  for  a  thoughtless  bit  of  stupidity,  of 
which,  even  without  that,  I  have  bitterly  repented. 
Well,  yes,  I  behaved  like  a  fool:  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna,  that  Idndest  of  women,  did  give  me  money 

18 


ON  THE  EVE 

for  a  trip  to  Italy,  but  I  betook  myself  to  the 
Topknots/  to  eat  dough-balls,  and  .  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  finish  thy  remark,  please," — inter- 
rupted BersenefF. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  say  that  that  money  was 
not  spent  in  vain.  I  beheld  there  such  types, 
especially  feminine  types.  .  .  Of  course,  I  know : 
outside  of  Italy  there  is  no  salvation!  " 

"  Thou  wilt  go  to  Italy," — remarked  Berse- 
neff,  without  turning  toward  him — "  and  thou 
wilt  accomplish  nothing.  Thou  wilt  merely  flap 
thy  wings,  but  thou  wilt  not  soar.  We  know 
you!" 

"  But  Stavasser  soared.  .  .  And  he  is  not  the 
only  one.  And  if  I  don't  soar — it  will  signify 
that  I  am  an  aquatic  penguin,  without  wings. 
I  'm  stifling  here,  I  want  to  go  to  Italy," — went 
on  Shiibin, — "  there  is  sun,  there  is  beauty 
there.  .  ." 

A  young  girl,  in  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat, 
with  a  rose-coloured  parasol  over  her  shoulder, 
made  her  appearance,  at  that  moment,  in  the  path 
along  which  the  two  friends  were  walking. 

"  But  what  do  I  behold?  Beauty  is  coming  to 
meet  us  even  here!  The  greeting  of  a  humble 
artist  to  the  enchanting  Zoya!" — suddenly  ex- 
claimed Shubin,  with  a  theatrical  flourish  of  his 
hat. 

^The  scornful  Great  Russian  name  for  the  Little 
Russian. — Translator. 


19 


/ 


ON  THE  EVE 

The  young  girl  to  whom  this  exclamation  was 
addressed  shook  her  finger  at  him,  and  allowing 
the  two  friends  to  approach  her,  she  said,  in  a  ring- 
ing voice,  with  the  merest  suggestion  of  a  lisp: 

"  Why  don't  you  come  to  dinner,  gentlemen? 
The  table  is  set." 

"  What  do  I  hear? "  said  Shiibin,  clasping  his 
hands. — "  Is  it  possible  that  you,  charming  Zoya, 
have  brought  yourself  to  come  in  search  of  us,  in 
this  heat?  Is  that  how  I  am  to  construe  the 
meaning  of  your  speech  ?  Tell  me,  can  it  be  ?  Or 
no,  do  not  utter  that  word:  repentance  will  kill 
me  on  the  spot." 

"  Akh,  do  stop,  Pavel  Yakovlevitch," — re- 
turned the  young  girl,  not  without  vexation: — 
"  why  do  you  never  speak  seriously  to  me?  I 
shall  get  angry," — she  added,  with  a  coquettish 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  pout. 

"  You  will  not  be  angry  with  me,  my  ideal 
Zoya  Nikitishna :  you  will  not  wish  to  plunge  me 
into  the  abyss  of  wild  despair.  But  I  do  not 
know  how  to  talk  seriously,  because  I  am  not  a 
serious  man." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  turned 
to  BersenefF. 

"  He  is  always  like  that:  he  treats  me  like  a 
child ;  and  I  am  already  over  eighteen  years  old. 
I  'm  grown  up." 

"  O  heavens!  " — moaned  Shubin,  and  rolled  up 
his  eyes ;  but  BersenefF  laughed  noiselessly. 

20 


ON  THE  EVE 

The  girl  stamped  her  little  foot. 

"  Pavel  Yakovlevitch !  I  shall  get  angry !  He- 
lene  started  to  come  with  me," — she  went  on, — 
"  but  stopped  behind  in  the  garden.  The  heat 
frightened  her,  but  I  'm  not  afraid  of  heat.  Let 
us  go." 

She  set  out  along  the  path,  lightly  swaying  her 
slender  iigure  at  every  step,  and  tossing  back 
from  her  face,  with  her  pretty  little  hand  covered 
with  a  black  mitt,  the  long,  soft  locks  of  her  hair. 

The  friends  followed  her  ( Shiibin  now  silently 
pressed  his  hands  to  his  heart,  again  he  raised 
them  above  his  head ) ,  and,  a  few  moments  later, 
they  found  themselves  in  front  of  one  of  the  nu- 
merous suburban  villas  which  surround  Kiin- 
tzovo.  A  small  wooden  house,  with  a  partial  sec- 
ond storey,  painted  pink,  stood  amid  a  garden, 
and  peeped  forth  from  among  the  verdure  of  the 
trees  in  a  naive  sort  of  way.  Zoya  was  the  first 
to  open  the  wicket-gate,  run  into  the  garden,  and 
cry  out:  "I  have  brought  the  wanderers!"  A 
young  girl,  with  a  pale  and  expressive  face,  rose 
from  a  bench  beside  the  path,  and  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  house  a  lady  in  a  lilac-silk  gown  made 
her  appearance,  and,  raising  an  embroidered  ba- 
tiste handkerchief  above  her  head  to  protect  it 
from  the  sun,  she  smiled  languidly  and  indo- 
lently. 


21 


Ill 

Anna  Vasilievna  Stakhoff,  born  Shubin,  had 
been  left  a  full  orphan  at  seven  years  of  age,  and 
heiress  to  a  fairly  large  property.  She  had  rela- 
tives who  were  very  wealthy,  and  relatives  who 
were  very  poor;  the  poor  ones  on  her  father's 
side,  the  wealthy  ones  on  her  mother's:  Senator 
Bolgin,  the  Princess  Tchikurasoff .  Prince  Ar- 
dalion  Tchikurasoff,  who  was  appointed  as  her 
guardian,  placed  her  in  the  best  boarding-school 
in  Moscow,  and  when  she  left  school  took  her 
into  his  own  house.  He  lived  in  handsome  style, 
and  gave  balls  in  the  winter.  Anna  Vasilievna's 
future  husband,  Nikolai  Artemievitch  Stakhoff, 
won  her  at  one  of  these  balls,  where  she  wore  "  a 
charming  pink  gown,  with  a  head-dress  of  tiny 
roses."  She  preserved  that  head-dress.  .  .  .  Ni- 
kolai Artemievitch  Stakhoff,  the  son  of  a  retired 
captain  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  year  1812, 
and  had  received  a  lucrative  post  in  Petersburg, 
had  entered  the  military  school  at  the  age  of  six- 
teen, and  graduated  into  the  Guards.  He  was 
handsome,  well  built,  and  was  considered  about 
the  best  cavalier  at  evening  parties  of  the  middle 
class,  which  he  chiefly  frequented :  he  did  not  have 
access  to  fashionable  society.     Two  dreams  had 

22 


ON  THE  EVE 

occupied  him  from  his  youth  up:  to  become  an 
Imperial  aide-de-camp  and  to  make  an  advan- 
tageous marriage ;  he  speedily  renounced  the  first 
dream,  but  clung  all  the  more  tenaciously  to  the 
second.  As  a  result  of  this,  he  went  to  Mos- 
cow every  winter.  Nikolai  Artemievitch  spoke 
French  very  respectably,  and  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a  philosopher,  because  he  did  not  in- 
dulge in  carouses.  While  he  was  still  only  an 
ensign,  he  had  been  fond  of  arguing  obstinately 
on  the  question,  for  example,  as  to  whether  it 
is  possible  for  a  man,  in  the  course  of  his  whole 
life,  to  traverse  the  entire  globe,  and  whether  it 
is  possible  for  him  to  know  what  goes  on  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea — and  he  always  maintained  the 
opinion  that  it  is  not  possible. 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  had  passed  his  twenty- 
fifth  birthday  when  he  "  hooked  "  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna ;  he  resigned  his  commission,  and  retired  to 
the  country  to  engage  in  farming.  Rural  exis- 
tence soon  palled  on  him,  and  the  estate  was  on  a 
quit-rent  basis  ;^  he  settled  in  Moscow,  in  his  wife's 
house.  In  his  youth,  he  had  never  played  at 
card-games,  but  now  he  became  passionately  fond 
of  loto,  and  when  that  was  prohibited,  of  whist. 
He  was  bored  to  death  at  home;  he  entered  into 
relations  with  a  widow  of  German  extraction, 

1  That  is,  the  serfs  paid  an  annual  sum  for  the  privilege  of  being 
released  from  agricultural  labours  for  the  master,  and  of  earning  their 
living  in  the  towns,  at  any  trade  wherein  they  were  skilled. — Trans- 
lator. 

23 


ON  THE  EVE 

and  spent  almost  all  his  time  at  her  house.  In  the 
summer  of  '53  he  did  not  remove  to  Kiintzovo; 
he  remained  in  Moscow,  ostensibly  with  the  ob- 
ject of  taking  a  course  of  mineral  waters;  in 
reality,  he  did  not  wish  to  part  from  his  widow. 
He  did  not  talk  much  with  her,  however,  but 
mostly  argued  as  to  whether  the  weather  could 
be  predicted,  and  so  forth.  Once,  some  one  called 
him  "  a  frondeur  " ;  this  appellation  pleased  him 
greatly.  "  Yes,"  he  thought,  drawing  down  the 
corners  of  his  lips  in  a  self-satisfied  way,  and 
swaying  to  and  fro,  "  I  am  not  easily  satisfied ; 
you  can't  cheat  me."  Nikolai  Artemievitch's 
critical  faculty  consisted  in  this — ^that,  for  in- 
stance, when  he  heard  the  word  "nerves,"he  would 
say:  "  And  what  are  nerves?  "  or  some  one  would 
allude  in  his  presence  to  the  triumphs  of  astron- 
omy, and  he  would  say:  "  And  do  you  believe  in 
astronomy? "  But  when  he  wished  overwhelm- 
ingly to  dumfound  his  antagonist,  he  said:  "  All 
that  is  mere  phrases."  It  must  be  confessed  that 
such  retorts  appeared  (and  still  appear)  to  many 
persons  irrefutable;  but  Nikolai  Artemievitch 
had  not  even  a  suspicion  that  Augustina  Chris- 
tianovna,  in  her  letters  to  her  cousin,  called  him 
"  Mein  Pinselchen."  ^ 

Nikolai  Artemievitch's  wife,  Anna  Vasilievna, 
was  a  small,  thin  woman,  with  delicate  features, 
inclined  to  emotion  and  melancholy.    At  board- 

^  My  simpleton. 

24 


ON  THE  EVE 

ing-school  she  had  busied  herself  with  music,  and 
had  read  romances,  then  she  had  cast  aside,  all 
this ;  she  had  begun  to  take  pleasure  in  dress,  and 
this  taste  had  persisted;  she  had  undertaken  the 
education  of  her  daughter,  but  had  weakened, 
and  given  her  over  to  the  hands  of  a  governess; 
and  it  ended  in  her  doing  nothing  whatever,  ex- 
cept grieving  and  indulging  in  gentle  agitation. 
The  birth  of  Elena  Nikolaevna  had  shattered 
her  health,  and  she  was  not  able  to  have  any  more 
children;  Nikolai  Artemievitch  was  in  the  habit 
of  alluding  to  this  circumstance,  by  way  of  justi- 
fying his  acquaintance  with  Augustina  Chris- 
tianovna.  Her  husband's  infidelity  greatly  em- 
bittered Anna  Vasilievna;  what  particularly 
wounded  her  was  that,  one  day,  by  a  trick,  he  pre- 
sented his  German  with  a  pair  of  grey  horses 
from  her  (Anna  Vasilievna's)  stud.  She  never 
reproached  him  to  his  face,  but  she  complained  of 
him,  on  the  sly,  to  every  one  in  the  house  in  turn, 
even  to  her  daughter.  Anna  Vasilievna  was  not 
fond  of  society;  it  pleased  her  to  have  a  visitor 
sit  with  her,  and  narrate  something;  when  left 
alone,  she  immediately  fell  ill.  She  had  a  very 
loving  and  tender  heart :  life  speedily  ground  her 
between  the  millstones. 

Pavel  Yakolevitch  Shiibin  was  her  grand- 
nephew.  His  father  was  in  the  government  ser- 
vice in  Moscow.  His  brothers  had  entered  the 
cadet  corps;  he  was  the  youngest,  his  mother's 

25 


ON  THE  EVE 

darling,  of  delicate  constitution:  he  remained  at 
home.  He  had  been  destined  for  the  university, 
and  had  passed  his  examinations  with  difficulty. 
From  his  earliest  years,  he  had  begun  to  display 
an  inclination  for  sculpture:  ponderous  Senator 
Bolgin  one  day  saw  a  statuette  of  himself  at  his 
aunt's  (the  lad  was  sixteen  years  old  at  that  time) , 
and  declared  that  he  intended  to  protect  the 
youthful  talent.  The  sudden  death  of  Shubin's 
father  came  near  changing  the  young  man's 
whole  future.  The  senator,  the  patron  of  talent, 
presented  him  with  a  plaster  bust  of  Homer — 
and  that  was  all ;  but  Anna  Vasilievna  aided  him 
with  money,  and  in  a  lame  sort  of  fashion,  at  the 
age  of  nineteen,  he  entered  the  medical  course  of 
the  university.  Pavel  felt  no  predilection  for 
medicine,  but,  according  to  the  distribution  of  the 
students  which  existed  at  that  period,  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  enter  any  other  course ;  more- 
over, he  hoped  to  study  anatomy.  But  he  did  not 
study  anatomy;  he  did  not  pass  into  the  second 
year,  and  without  waiting  for  the  examinations, 
he  left  the  university,  to  devote  himself  wholly  to 
his  vocation.  He  toiled  zealously,  but  by  fits  and 
starts ;  he  roamed  about  the  environs  of  Moscow ; 
he  modelled  and  drew  the  portraits  of  peasant 
maidens;  he  entered  into  relations  with  various 
persons,  young  and  old,  of  high  and  low  degree, 
— ^with  Italian  model-makers  and  Russian  artists ; 
he  would  not  listen  to  the  suggestion  of  the 

26 


ON  THE  EVE 

Academy,  and  recognised  no  professor.  He  pos- 
sessed decided  talent:  he  began  to  be  known  in 
JVIoscow.  His  mother,  a  Parisian  by  birth,  taught 
him  French,  bustled  and  worried  about  him  day 
and  night,  was  proud  of  him,  and  when  she  died 
of  consumption,  at  an  early  age,  she  entreated 
Anna  Vasilievna  to  take  charge  of  him.  He  was 
then  in  his  twenty-first  year.  Anna  Vasilievna 
complied  with  her  last  wish:  he  occupied  a  small 
chamber  in  a  wing  of  the  house. 


27 


IV 


"  Come,  let  us  go  to  dinner," — said  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  in  a  mournful  voice,  and  all  betook 
themselves  to  the  dining-room. — "  Sit  next  to 
me,  Zoe," — said  Anna  Vasilievna;  "  and  do  thou, 
Helene,  entertain  our  guest ;  and  please,  Paul,  do 
not  play  pranks  and  do  not  tease  Zoe.  I  have  a 
headache  to-day." 

Again  Shubin  rolled  his  eyes  heavenward; 
Zoe  replied  to  him  by  a  half -smile.  This  Zoe, 
or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  Zoya  Nikitishna 
Miiller,  vi^as  a  pretty,  little,  slightly  cross-eyed 
Russian  German,  with  a  little  nose  cleft  at  the 
tip,  and  tiny  red  lips,  fair-haired  and  plump. 
She  sang  Russian  romances  far  from  badly, 
played  neatly  on  the  piano  divers  pieces,  some- 
times merry,  sometimes  sentimental;  she  dressed 
with  taste,  but  in  a  childish  way,  somehow,  and 
too  spotlessly.  Anna  Vasilievna  had  taken  her  as 
a  companion  for  her  daughter,  but  kept  her  al- 
most uninterruptedly  by  her  own  side.  Elena 
made  no  complaint  on  this  score:  she  positively 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  Zoya  when  she 
chanced  to  be  left  alone  with  her. 

The  dinner  lasted  rather  a  long  time;  Berse- 

28 


ON  THE  EVE 

nefF  chatted  with  Elena  about  university  life, 
about  his  intentions  and  hopes.  Shiibin  listened, 
and  maintained  silence,  eating  with  exaggerated 
avidity,  and  from  time  to  time  casting  comical 
mournful  glances  at  Zoya,  who  responded  to  him 
with  the  same  phlegmatic  smile  as  before.  After 
dinner,  Elena  went  into  the  garden  with  Berse- 
nefF  and  Shiibin;  Zoya  gazed  after  them,  and 
slightly  shrugging  her  shoulders,  seated  herself 
at  the  piano.  Anna  VasiHevna  began  to  say: 
"  Why  don't  you  go  for  a  walk  also?  "  but  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer,  she  added:  "  Play  me 
something  sad.  ..." 

"  La  derniere  pensee  de  Weber?  "  asked  Zoya. 

"  Akh,  yes,  Weber," — said  Anna  Vasilievna, 
dropping  into  an  arm-chair,  and  a  tear  sprang 
to  her  eyelashes. 

Meanwhile,  Elena  had  led  the  friends  to  an 
arbour  of  lilacs,  with  a  small  wooden  table  in  the 
centre,  and  benches  all  round  it.  Shiibin  cast  a 
glance  around,  gave  several  little  skips,  and  say- 
ing in  a  whisper,  "Wait!"  ran  off  to  his  own 
room,  brought  a  lump  of  clay,  and  began  to  model 
a  figure  of  Zoya,  shaking  his  head,  muttering, 
and  laughing  the  while. 

"  At  your  old  tricks  again," — remarked  Elena, 
with  a  glance  at  his  work,  and  turned  to  Berse- 
nefF,  with  whom  she  pursued  the  conversation 
which  had  been  begun  at  dinner. 

"My  old  tricks!"— repeated  Shiibin.— "  The 

29 


ON  THE  EVE 

subject  is  downright  inexhaustible!    To-day,  in 
particular,  she  drove  me  beyond  patience." 

"  Why  so?  "  inquired  Elena. — "  One  would 
think  that  you  were  talking  about  some  mali- 
cious, disagreeable  old  hag.  A  pretty,  young 
girl  .  .  .  ." 

"  Of  course,"— interrupted  Shubin,— "  she  is 
pretty,  very  pretty ;  I  am  convinced  that  any  pas- 
ser-by, on  glancing  at  her,  is  inevitably  bound  to 
think :  '  There  's  a  girl  with  whom  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  .  .  .  dance  a  polka ; '  I  am  also  con- 
vinced that  she  knows  this,  and  that  it  is  agree- 
able to  her.— Why  those  bashful  grimaces,  that 
modesty?  Come,  you  know  very  well  what  I 
mean  to  say,"  he  added  through  his  teeth. — 
"  However,  you  are  otherwise  occupied  at  pres- 
ent." 

And,  smashing  Zoya's  figure,  Shubin  set  has- 
tily, and  as  though  vexed,  to  moulding  and  knead- 
ing his  clay. 

"  And  so,  you  would  like  to  be  a  professor? " 
—Elena  asked  BersenefF. 

"  Yes,"  rephed  the  latter,  crushing  his  red 
hands  between  his  knees.  "  That  is  my  cherished 
dream.  Of  course,  I  am  very  well  aware  of 
everything  wliich  I  lack  to  become  worthy  of  so 
lofty  ....  I  mean  to  say  that  I  am  too  inade- 
quately prepared,  but  I  hope  to  receive  permis- 
sion to  go  abroad;  I  shall  remain  there  three  or 

four  years,  if  necessary,  and  then " 

30 


ON  THE  EVE 

He  paused,  dropped  his  eyes,  then  suddenly 
raised  them  and,  with  an  awkward  smile,  smoothed 
back  his  hair.  When  BersenefF  talked  with  a 
woman,  his  speech  became  still  more  dehberate, 
and  he  lisped  still  more  decidedly. 

"  You  wish  to  be  a  professor  of  history?  "—in- 
quired Elena. 

"  Yes,  or  of  philosophy," — he  added,  lowering 
his  voice,—"  if  that  should  prove  to  be  possible." 

"  He  is  already  devilish  strong  in  philosophy," 
— remarked  Shubin,  making  deep  lines  with  his 
finger-nail  in  the  clay, — "  so  why  should  he  go 
abroad? " 

"  And  shall  you  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  your 
position?" — asked  Elena,  resting  her  elbow  on 
the  table,  and  looking  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"  Perfectly,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  perfectly. 
What  profession  can  be  better?  Upon  my  word, 
to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Timofei  Nikolae- 

vitch The  mere  thought  of  such  a  career 

fills  me  with  joy  and  agitation, — yes,  .... 
with  agitation,  which  ....  which  springs  from 
the  consciousness  of  my  own  small  powers.  My 
deceased  father  gave  me  his  blessing  on  that 

matter I  shall  never  forget  his  last 

words." 

"  Did  your  father  die  last  winter?  " 

"  Yes,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  in  February." 

"  They  say,"— pursued  Elena,—"  that  he  left 
a  remarkable  work  in  manuscript:  is  that  true?  " 

31 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Yes,  he  did.  He  was  a  wonderful  man.  You 
would  have  loved  him,  Elena  Nikolaevna." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  that.  And  what  are  the 
contents  of  that  work?  " 

"  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  convey  to  you  the 
contents  of  the  work  in  a  few  words,  Elena  Niko- 
laevna. My  father  was  a  learned  man,  a  Schel- 
lingist:  he  employed  terms  which  are  not  always 
lucid.  .  .  ." 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch," — Elena  interrupted  him, 
— "  pardon  my  ignorance;  but  what  does  a  Schel- 
lingist  mean?  " 

BersenefF  smiled  slightly. 

"  A  Schellingist  signifies,  a  follower  of  Schel- 
ling,  the  German  philosopher;  and  Schelling's 
doctrine  consisted  in " 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch !  " — suddenly  exclaimed 
Shiibin: — "for  God's  sake!  Thou  dost  not  in- 
tend to  deliver  a  lecture  on  Schelling  to  Elena 
Nikolaevna?     Spare  her!" 

"  It  is  not  a  lecture  at  all,"  muttered  Berse- 
nefF, and  flushed  crimson, — "  I  wanted  .  .  .  ." 

"  And  why  not  a  lecture?  " — interposed  Elena; 
"  you  and  I  are  greatly  in  need  of  a  lecture, 
Pavel  Yakovlevitch." 

Shiibin  fixed  his  eyes  on  her,  and  suddenly 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at? " — she  asked 
coldly  and  almost  sharply. 

Shubin  stopped  short. 

32 


ON  THE  EVE 

*'  Come  now,  don't  get  angry," — ^he  said,  after 
a  pause. — "  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  really,  what 
possesses  you, — good  gracious! — now,  in  such 
weather,  under  these  trees,  to  discuss  philosophy? 
Let  us  talk,  rather,  about  nightingales,  about 
roses,  about  youthful  eyes  and  smiles." 

"  Yes,  and  about  French  romances,  and  wo- 
man's fripperies,"  went  on  Elena. 

"  And  about  fripperies,  if  you  like,"  retorted 
Shubin,  "  if  they  are  pretty." 

"  Very  well.  But  what  if  we  do  not  care  to 
talk  about  fripperies?  You  call  yourself  a  free 
artist,  why  do  you  infringe  upon  the  freedom  of 
others  ?  And  permit  me  to  ask  you,  if  that 's  your 
way  of  thinking,  why  you  attack  Zoya  ?  It  is  par- 
ticularly convenient  to  discuss  fripperies  and  roses 
with  her." 

Shubin  suddenly  flared  up,  and  half  rose  from 
the  bench. — "  Ah,  you  don't  say  so?  "  he  began, 
in  a  nervous  voice. — "  I  understand  your  hint; 
you  are  sending  me  off  to  her,  Elena  Nikolaevna. 
In  other  words,  I  am  intruding  here." 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  sending  you  away  from 
here." 

"  You  mean  to  say," — went  on  Shubin  testily, 
— "  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  any  other  society, 
that  I  am  a  mate  for  her,  that  I  am  as  empty  and 
silly  and  shallow  as  that  sickly-sweet  little  Ger- 
man?   Is  n't  that  so,  madam?  " 

Elena  contracted  her  brows. — "  You  have  not 

33 


ON  THE  EVE 

always  expressed  yourself  about  her  in  that  man- 
ner, Pavel  Yakovlevitch,"  she  remarked. 

"  Ah!  reproach!  reproach,  now!  "  cried  Shiibin. 
— "  Well,  yes,  I  do  not  conceal  the  fact,  there  was 
a  moment — precisely  that,  one  moment — when 
those  fresh,  commonplace  little  cheeks  .... 
But  if  I  wished  to  pay  you  back  with  reproach, 
and  remind  you  ....  Good-bye,  madam,"  he 
suddenly  added, — "  I  am  on  the  point  of  talking 
at  random."  ^ 

And  dealing  a  blow  upon  the  clay,  which  he 
had  moulded  into  the  shape  of  a  head,  he  rushed 
out  of  the  arbour  and  went  off  to  his  own  room. 

"  A  child," — remarked  Elena,  gazing  after 
him. 

"  An  artist,"  said  BerseneiF,  with  a  gentle 
smile. — "  All  artists  are  like  that.  One  must  par- 
don them  their  caprices.  That  is  their  preroga- 
tive." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Elena, — "  but,  so  far,  Pavel 
has  not  established  that  prerogative  for  himself. 
What  has  he  accomplished  up  to  the  present  time? 
Give  me  your  arm,  and  let  us  walk  in  the  avenue. 
He  disturbed  us.  We  were  talking  about  your 
father's  writings." 

Berseneif  gave  Elena  his  arm,  and  went  into 
the  garden  with  her;  but  the  conversation  which 
had  been  begun,  having  been  broken  off  too  soon, 
was  not  renewed.  Berseneff  again  began  to  set 
forth  his  views  on  the  vocation  of  professor,  on 

34 


ON  THE  EVE 

his  future  career.  He  moved  quietly  by  Elena's 
side,  stepped  awkwardly,  supported  her  arm 
clumsily,  now  and  then  jostled  her  with  his 
shoulder,  and  never  once  looked  at  her;  but  his 
speech  flowed  lightly,  if  not  quite  freely,  he  ex- 
pressed himself  simply  and  pertinently,  and  in 
his  eyes,  which  roved  slowly  over  the  boles  of  the 
trees,  over  the  sand  of  the  path,  over  the  grass, 
there  beamed  the  quiet  emotion  of  noble  feelings, 
and  in  his  tranquil  voice  there  was  audible  the  joy 
of  a  man  who  is  conscious  that  he  is  successfully 
expressing  himself  to  another  person  who  is  dear 
to  him.  Elena  listened  attentively  to  him,  and, 
half  turned  toward  him,  never  removed  her  eyes 
from  his  face,  which  had  paled  slightly, — from 
his  eyes,  which  were  friendly  and  gentle,  although 
they  avoided  an  encounter  with  her  eyes.  Her 
soul  unclosed,  and  something  tender,  just,  good, 
was  poured  into  her  heart,  or  sprang  up  within  it. 


35 


Shubin  did  not  leave  his  room  until  nightfall.  It 
was  already  perfectly  dark;  the  moon,  not  yet  at 
the  full,  hung  high  in  the  heaven,  the  Milky  Way 
gleamed  white,  and  the  stars  had  begun  to  stud 
the  sky,  when  BersenefF,  having  taken  his  leave 
of  Anna  Vasilievna,  Elena,  and  Zoya,  went  to 
his  friend's  door.  He  found  it  locked,  and 
tapped. 

"  Who  's  there?  "  rang  out  Shiibin's  voice. 

"  I," — replied  BerseneiF. 

"  What  dost  thou  want?  " 

"  Let  me  in,  Pavel ;  have  done  with  thy  ca- 
prices; art  not  thou  ashamed  of  thyself?  " 

"  I  'm  not  capricious;  I  'm  asleep,  and  behold- 
ing Zoya  in  my  dreams." 

"  Stop  that,  please.    Thou  art  not  a  child.    Let 
me  in.    I  must  have  a  talk  with  thee." 

"  Hast  not  thou  talked  enough  already  with 
Elena? " 

"  Have  done,  have  done  with  that;  let  me  in!  " 

Shubin  replied  by  a  feigned  snore;  BersenefF 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  home. 

The  night  was  warm,  and,  somehow,  peculiarly 
quiet,  as  though  everything  round  about  were 

36 


ON  THE  EVE 

listening  and  watching;  and  Berseneff,  envel- 
oped by  the  motionless  mist,  involuntarily  came 
to  a  halt,  and  began  also  to  listen  and  watch.  A 
faint  murmur,  like  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  gown, 
arose  from  time  to  time  in  the  crests  of  the  trees 
near  by,  and  excited  in  Berseneff  a  sweet  and 
painful  sensation — a  sensation  of  semi-alarm. 
Little  shivers  coursed  down  his  cheeks,  his  ej^^es 
were  chilled  with  quick-springing  tears ;  he  would 
have  liked  to  walk  absolutely  without  noise,  to 
hide  himself,  to  steal  along  stealthily.  A  keen  lit- 
tle breeze  attacked  him  on  the  flank :  he  shivered 
slightly,  and  stood  stock-still;  a  sleepy  beetle 
tumbled  from  a  bough  and  landed  on  the  path 
with  a  clatter:  Berseneff  emitted  a  soft  "  Ah!  " 
and  again  came  to  a  halt.  But  he  began  to  think 
of  Elena,  and  all  these  transient  sensations  in- 
stantly vanished;  only  the  vivifying  impression 
of  the  nocturnal  freshness,  and  the  nocturnal 
stroll,  and  the  image  of  the  young  girl  absorbed 
his  whole  soul.  Berseneff  walked  on  with  droop- 
ing head,  and  called  to  mind  her  words,  her  ques- 
tions. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  the  tread 
of  rapid  footsteps  behind  him.  He  listened  in- 
tently :  some  one  was  running,  some  one  was  pur- 
suing him;  the  panting  breath  was  audible,  and 
all  at  once,  out  of  the  black  circle  of  shadow  cast 
by  a  huge  tree,  Shiibin  popped  up  in  front  of 
him,  with  no  hat  upon  his  dishevelled  hair,  and 
ghastly  pale  in  the  moonlight. 

37 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  I  am  glad  thou  hast  taken  this  path,"  he  ar- 
ticulated with  difficulty;  "  I  should  not  have  slept 
all  night  if  I  had  not  overtaken  thee.  Give  me 
thine  arm.  Thou  art  on  thy  way  home,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  will  accompany  thee." 
But  how  wilt  thou  go  without  thy  hat?  " 
Never  mind  about  that.    I  have  taken  oiF  my 
neckcloth  also.    It  is  warm  now." 

The  friends  advanced  a  few  paces. 

*'  I  was  very  foolish  to-day,  was  n't  I?  "  asked 
Shubin  suddenly. 

"  To  speak  frankly,  yes.  I  could  not  under- 
stand thee.  I  have  never  seen  thee  like  that. 
And  what  was  it  that  angered  thee,  pray?  A  few 
trifles!" 

"H'm!"  muttered  Shubin. — "What  a  way 
thou  hast  of  expressing  thyself ! — but  I  am  in  no 
mood  for  trifles.  Seest  thou,"  he  added, — "  I  am 
bound  to  inform  thee,  that  I  .  .  .  .  that  .... 
Think  of  me  what  thou  wilt  ....  I  ...  . 
well,  here  goes!  I  am  in  love  with  Elena!  " 

"Thou  art  in  love  with  Elena!" — repeated 
Berseneff,  and  stopped  short. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Shubin,  with  forced  careless- 
ness.— "  Does  that  surprise  thee?  I  will  tell  thee 
more.  Until  this  evening  I  was  able  to  hope 
that,  in  course  of  time,  she  would  come  to  love 
me.  .  .  .  But  to-day  I  have  become  convinced 

38 


ON  THE  EVE 

that  I  have  nothing  to  hope  for, — she  has  fallen 
in  love  with  some  one  else." 

*'  With  some  one  else?    With  whom,  then?  " 

"  With  whom?  With  thee!  "  cried  Shiibin,  and 
slapped  Berseneff  on  the  shoulder. 

"With  me!" 

"  With  thee," — repeated  Shubin. 

Berseneff  fell  back  a  pace,  and  stood  stock- 
still.    Shubin  gazed  keenly  at  him. 

"And  does  that  surprise  thee?  Thou  art  a 
modest  youth.  But  she  does  love  thee.  .  .  . 
Thou  mayest  rest  at  ease  on  that  score." 

"  What  nonsense  thou  art  chattering!  "  ejacu- 
lated Berseneff,  at  last,  with  vexation. 

"  No,  it  is  n't  nonsense.  But  why  are  we  stand- 
ing here?  Let 's  go  on.  It 's  easier  when  we  are 
walking.  I  have  known  her  for  a  long  time,  and 
I  know  her  well.  I  cannot  be  mistaken.  Thou 
art  after  her  own  heart.  There  was  a  time  when 
she  liked  me:  but,  in  the  first  place,  I  am  too 
frivolous  a  young  man  for  her,  while  thou  art 
a  serious  being,  thou  art  a  morally  and  physically 
clean  individual,  thou  ....  Stay,  I  am  not 
through.  .  .  Thou  art  a  conscientious  enthusiast, 
a  genuine  representative  of  those  priests  of 
science,  of  which, — no,  not  of  which, — of  whom, 
— of  whom  the  middle-class  Russian  gentry  are  so 
justly  proud.  And,  in  the  second  place,  the  other 
day,  Elena  caught  me  kissing  Zoya's  arms! " 

"Zoya's?" 

89 


ON  THE  EVE 


<( 


Yes,  Zoya's.  What  wouldst  thou  have  me 
do?    She  has  such  fine  shoulders." 

"  Shoulders?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  shoulders — arms — is  n't  it  all  the 
same?  Elena  caught  me  in  the  midst  of  these  fa- 
miliar occupations  after  dinner,  while  before  din- 
ner I  had  been  objurgating  Zoya  in  her  presence. 
Elena,  unfortunately,  does  not  understand  how 
perfectly  natural  such  contradictions  are.  Then 
tliou  didst  turn  up :  thou  art  a  believer  .  .  .  what 
the  deuce  is  it  that  thou  believest  in?  .  .  .  thou 
art  eloquent,  thou  blushest,  thou  growest  con- 
fused, thou  grievest  over  Schiller,  over  Schelling 
(and  she  is  always  hunting  up  distinguished  per- 
sons), and  so  thou  hast  carried  off  the  victory, 
while  unhappy  I  endeavour  to  jest  .  .  .  and 
.  .  .  nevertheless  ..." 

Shubin  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  stepped  aside, 
sat  down  on  the  ground,  and  clutched  himself 
by  the  hair. 

Berseneff  went  up  to  him. 

"  Pavel," — he  began, — "  what  childishness  is 
this?  Good  gracious!  What  is  the  matter  with 
thee  to-day?  God  knows  what  nonsense  thou 
hast  taken  into  thy  head.  And  thou  art  weeping ! 
Really,  it  seems  to  me  that  thou  art  pretending." 

Shubin  raised  his  head.  The  tears  glistened 
on  his  cheeks  in  the  moonlight,  but  his  face  was 
smiling. 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch," — ^he  said, — "  thou  may- 

40 


ON  THE  EVE 

est  think  of  me  what  thou  wilt.  I  am  even  ready- 
to  admit  that  I  have  a  fit  of  hysterics  at  the  pres- 
ent moment ;  but  God  is  my  witness  that  I  am  in 
love  with  Elena,  and  that  Elena  loves  thee.  How- 
ever, I  promised  to  escort  thee  home,  and  I  will 
keep  my  word." 

He  rose. 

"  What  a  night !  silvery,  dark,  young !  How 
fine  it  is  now  for  those  who  are  in  love!  How 
delightful  they  find  it  not  to  sleep!  Shalt  thou 
sleep,  Andrei  Petrovitch? " 

BersenefF  made  no  reply,  and  accelerated  his 
gait. 

"  Why  art  thou  in  such  a  hurry? " — went  on 
Shubin. — "  Trust  my  words,  such  a  night  will 
never  be  repeated  in  thy  life.  But  Schelling  awaits 
thee  at  home.  He  has  done  thee  a  service  to-day, 
't  is  true ;  but  do  not  hasten,  nevertheless.  Sing, 
if  thou  knowest  how,— sing  still  more  loudly;  if 
thou  dost  not  know  how — take  off  thy  hat,  throw 
back  thy  head,  and  smile  at  the  stars.  They  are 
all  gazing  at  thee — at  thee  alone:  the  stars  do 
nothing  else  but  gaze  at  people  who  are  in  love, — 
that  is  why  they  are  so  charming.  Thou  art  in 
love,  art  thou  not,  Andrei  Petrovitch  ?  .  .  .  Thou 
dost  not  answer  me.  .  .  .  Why  dost  thou  not 
answer?  " — began  Shubin  again. — "  Oh,  if  thou 
feelest  thyself  happy,  hold  thy  peace,  hold  thy 
peace!  I  chatter,  because  I  am  an  unlucky  wretch, 
I  am  not  beloved;  I  am  a  juggler,  an  artist,  a 

41 


ON  THE  EVE 

buffoon;  but  what  wordless  raptures  would  not 
I  quaff  in  these  nocturnal  streams  of  light,  be- 
neath these  stars,  beneath  these  brilliants,  if  I 
knew  that  I  were  loved?  ....  Berseneff,  art 
thou  happy? " 

Berseneff  remained  silent,  as  before,  and  strode 
swiftly  along  the  level  road.  Aliead,  among  the 
trees,  the  lights  of  the  hamlet  in  which  he  lived 
began  to  twinkle;  it  consisted  of  half  a  score,  in 
all,  of  small  villas.  At  its  very  beginning,  on 
the  right  of  the  road,  beneath  two  wide-spreading 
birch-trees,  was  a  tiny  shop ;  all  its  windows  were 
already  closed,  but  a  broad  streak  of  light  fell 
in  fan-shape  from  the  open  door,  upon  the  tram- 
pled grass,  and  surged  upward  upon  the  trees, 
sharply  illuminating  the  whitish  under  side  of 
their  dense  foliage.  A  young  girl,  a  lady's  maid, 
to  all  appearance,  was  standing  in  the  shop,  with 
her  back  to  the  road,  and  bargaining  with  the 
shopkeeper :  from  beneath  the  red  kerchief,  which 
she  had  thrown  over  her  head,  and  held  fast  under 
her  chin  with  her  bare  hand,  her  plump  cheek 
and  slender  neck  were  just  visible.  The  young 
men  stepped  into  the  band  of  light,  Shubin 
glanced  at  the  interior  of  the  shop,  halted,  and, 
exclaimed:  "Annushka!"  The  young  girl 
turned  briskly  round.  A  pretty,  rather  broad, 
but  rosy  face,  with  merry  brown  eyes  and  black 
brows,  was  revealed. — "Annushka!" — repeated 
Shubin.     The  girl  looked  at  him,  took  fright, 

42 


ON  THE  EVE 

grew  abashed — and  without  finishing  her  pur- 
chase, descended  the  steps,  slipped  hastily  past, 
and  with  hardly  a  glance  behind  her  walked  down 
the  road  to  the  left.  The  shopkeeper,  a  corpulent 
man  and  indifferent  to  everything  in  the  world, 
like  all  suburban  shopkeepers,  grunted  and 
yawned  after  her,  while  Shubin  turned  to  Ber- 
senefF  with  the  words:  "  That  .  .  that  .  .  thou 
seest  ....  I  am  acquainted  with  a  family  here 
.  .  .  thou  must  not  think.  .  .  ."  and  without 
finishing  his  speech,  he  ran  after  the  retreating 
girl. 

"  Wipe  away  thy  tears,  at  least," — shouted 
BersenefF  after  him,  and  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing.  But  when  he  reached  home,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  was  not  merry;  he  was  no 
longer  laughing.  Not  for  one  moment  did  he 
believe  what  Shubin  had  said  to  him,  but  the 
words  he  had  uttered  had  sunk  deep  into  his  soul. 
"  Pavel  was  making  a  fool  of  me," — he  thought 
..."  but  when  she  does  fall  in  love  .  .  .  whom 
will  she  love? " 

A  piano  stood  in  Berseneff 's  room,  small  and 
not  new,  but  with  a  soft  and  agreeable,  although 
not  quite  pure  tone.  BersenefF  sat  down  at  it, 
and  began  to  strike  chords.  Like  all  Russian 
nobles,  he  had  studied  music  in  his  childhood, 
and,  like  almost  all  Russian  nobles,  he  played 
very  badly;  but  he  was  passionately  fond  of  mu- 
sic.   Properly  speaking,  what  he  loved  in  it  was 

43 


ON  THE  EVE 

not  the  art,  nor  the  forms  wherewith  it  expresses 
itself  (symphonies  and  sonatas,  even  operas, 
made  him  low-spirited),  but  its  poetry:  he  loved 
those  sweet  and  troubled,  aimless  and  all-embrac- 
ing emotions  which  are  evoked  in  the  soul  by 
blending  and  the  shifting  successions  of  sounds. 
For  more  than  an  hour  he  did  not  leave  the  piano, 
repeating  the  same  chords  over  and  over  many 
times,  awkwardly  seeking  new  ones,  pausing  and 
allowing  the  sounds  to  die  away  on  diminished 
sevenths.  His  heart  ached  within  him,  and  his 
eyes  were  more  than  once  suffused  with  tears. 
He  was  not  ashamed  of  them;  he  was  shedding 
them  in  the  dark.  "  Pavel  is  right,"  he  thought; 
"I  have  a  presentiment  that  he  is  right:  this 
evening  will  not  be  repeated."  At  last  he  rose, 
lighted  a  candle,  donned  his  dressing-gown,  took 
from  its  shelf  the  second  volume  of  Raumer's 
"  History  of  the  Hohenstaufens," — and  heaving 
a  sigh  or  two,  began  to  read  diligently. 


44 


VI 

In  the  meantime,  Elena  had  returned  to  her  own 
chamber,  seated  herself  in  front  of  the  open  win- 
dow, and  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand.  It  had 
become  her  habit  to  spend  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
every  evening  at  the  window  of  her  chamber. 
During  that  time,  she  held  converse  with  herself, 
rendered  herself  an  account  of  the  day  that  was 
past.  She  had  recently  celebrated  her  twentieth 
birthday.  She  was  tall  of  stature,  had  a  pale  and 
dark-skinned  face,  large  grey  eyes  under  arched 
brows,  surrounded  with  tiny  freckles,  a  perfectly 
regular  brow  and  nose,  a  tightly  compressed 
mouth,  and  a  decidedly  pointed  chin.  The  braids 
of  her  dark-chestnut  hair  hung  low  on  her  slender 
neck.  In  the  whole  of  her  being,  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face,  which  was  attentive  and  some- 
what timid,  in  her  mutable  glance,  in  her  smile, 
which  seemed  strained,  in  her  soft  and  uneven 
voice,  there  was  something  nervous,  electrical, 
something  impulsive  and  precipitate, — in  a  word, 
something  which  could  not  please  every  one,  which 
even  repelled  some  people.  Her  hands  were  nar- 
row, rosy,  with  long  fingers;  her  feet  also  were 
narrow;  she  walked  rapidly,  almost  impetuously, 

45 


ON  THE  EVE 

with  her  body  slightly  bent  forward.  She  had 
grown  up  very  strangely;  at  first  she  had  wor- 
shipped her  father,  then  she  had  become  passion- 
ately attached  to  her  mother,  and  had  cooled 
toward  both  of  them,  especially  toward  her  father. 
Of  late,  she  had  treated  her  mother  like  an  ail- 
ing grandmother;  and  her  father,  who  had  been 
proud  of  her,  as  long  as  she  had  possessed  the 
reputation  of  being  a  remarkable  child,  began  to 
be  afraid  of  her  when  she  grew  up,  and  said 
of  her,  that  she  was  some  sort  of  an  enthusiastic 
republican,  God  knows  whom  she  took  after! 
Weakness  agitated  her,  stupidity  angered  her,  a 
lie  she  never  forgave  "  unto  ages  of  ages  "  ;^  her 
demands  made  no  concessions  to  anything  what- 
ever, her  very  prayers  were  often  mingled  with 
reproach.  A  person  had  but  to  lose  her  respect, 
— and  she  promptly  pronounced  judgment,  often 
too  promptly, — and  he  forthwith  ceased  to  exist 
for  her.  All  impressions  took  deep  root  in  her 
soul :  she  did  not  take  life  easily. 

The  governess  to  whom  Anna  Vasilievna  had 
entrusted  the  task  of  finishing  her  daughter's 
education, — an  education,  we  may  remark  in 
parenthesis,  which  had  never  even  been  begun 
by  the  bored  young  lady — was  a  Russian,  the 
daughter  of  a  ruined  bribe-taker,  graduate  of 
a  Government  Institute,  a  very  sentimental,  ami- 

^The  equivalent,  in  the  Eastern  Church,  of  "for  ever 
and  ever."— Thanslator. 

46 


ON  THE  EVE 

able,  and  deceitful  creature ;  she  was  forever  fall- 
ing in  love,  and  ended  by  marrying,  in  her  fiftieth 
year  (when  Elena  had  already  passed  her  seven- 
teenth birthday),  some  officer  or  other  who  im- 
mediately abandoned  her.  This  governess  had 
been  very  fond  of  literature,  and  was  herself  in 
the  habit  of  scribbling  bad  verses;  she  imbued 
Elena  with  a  taste  for  reading,  but  reading  alone 
did  not  satisfy  the  girl;  from  her  childhood  up, 
she  had  thirsted  for  activity,  for  active  good :  the 
poor,  the  hungry,  the  sick,  interested  her,  dis- 
turbed, tortured  her ;  she  saw  them  in  her  dreams, 
she  questioned  all  her  acquaintances  about  them; 
she  bestowed  alms  carefully,  with  an  involuntary 
air  of  gravity,  almost  with  emotion.  All  op- 
pressed animals, — gaunt  watch-dogs,  kittens  con- 
demned to  death,  sparrows  which  had  tumbled 
out  of  the  nest,  even  insects  and  reptiles  found 
a  protector  and  defender  in  Elena;  she  tended 
them  herself,  she  did  not  despise  them.  Her 
mother  did  not  interfere  with  her;  on  the  other 
hand,  her  father  was  very  much  incensed  with  his 
daughter  for  her  vulgar  coddling,  as  he  called  it, 
and  declared  that  one  could  not  take  a  step  in  the 
house  without  treading  on  a  dog  or  a  cat.  "  Le- 
notchka,"— he  would  shout  at  her,  "  come  hither, 
make  haste,  a  spider  is  sucking  a  fly,  release  the 
unhappy  victim!  "  And  Lenotchka,  all  in  a  flut- 
ter would  run  to  him,  release  the  fly,  and  separate 
its  legs  which  were  stuck  together.   "  Come,  now, 

47 


ON  THE  EVE 

let  it  bite  thee,  if  thou  art  so  kind,"  remarked  her 
father  ironically;  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  him. 
At  the  age  of  ten,  Elena  made  acquaintance  with 
a  poor  little  girl,  Katya,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  in  secret  to  meet  her  in  the  garden.  She 
carried  her  dainties,  made  her  presents  of  ker- 
chiefs, and  ten-kopek  coins — Katya  accepted  no 
toys.  She  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  dry  earth, 
in  the  thicket,  behind  a  clump  of  nettles;  with  a 
sensation  of  joyous  humility  she  ate  her  black 
bread,  listened  to  her  stories.  Katya  had  an  aunt, 
an  ill-tempered  old  woman,  who  frequently  beat 
her;  Katya  hated  her,  and  was  always  talking 
about  running  away  from  her  aunt,  and  of  how 
she  would  live  entirely  free  from  all  restraint. 
With  secret  reverence  and  terror,  Elena  listened 
to  these  new,  unfamiliar  words,  stared  attentively 
at  Katya,  and  at  such  times  everything  about  her 
— her  black,  quick  eyes,  almost  like  those  of  a  wild 
beast,  her  sunburned  arms,  her  dull  little  voice, 
even  her  tattered  clothing — seemed  to  Elena  to 
be  something  peculiar,  almost  holy.  Elena  would 
return  home,  and  for  a  long  time  thereafter  think 
about  the  poor,  about  God's  will ;  she  thought  of 
how  she  would  cut  herself  a  staff  from  a  nut- 
tree,  throw  a  beggar's  wallet  over  her  shoulder, 
and  run  off  with  Katya;  how  she  would  roam 
about  the  highways  in  a  wreath  of  corn-flowers: 
she  had  once  seen  Katya  with  such  a  wreath.  If 
one  of  her  relatives  entered  the  room  at  that 

48 


ON  THE  EVE 

moment,  she  became  shy,  and  looked  queer.  One 
day,  she  ran  through  the  rain  to  her  rendezvous 
with  Katya,  and  splashed  her  frock;  her  father 
caught  sight  of  her  and  called  her  a  slut,  a  little 
peasant.  She  flushed  crimson  all  over,  and  had 
a  terrible  and  wonderful  sensation  at  her  heart. 
Katya  often  hummed  some  half -barbarous,  sol- 
diers' ditty;  Elena  learned  the  song  from  her 
....  Anna  Vasilievna  overheard  her,  and  flew 
into  a  rage. 

"  Where  hast  thou  picked  up  that  abomina- 
tion?"— she  asked  her  daughter.  Elena  merely 
stared  at  her  mother,  and  said  not  a  word :  she  felt 
that  she  would  sooner  allow  herself  to  be  rent  in 
pieces  than  to  betray  her  secret,  and  again  she  had 
a  sweet  and  terrified  feeling  in  her  heart.  How- 
ever, her  acquaintance  with  Katya  did  not  last 
long:  the  poor  little  girl  fell  ill  of  a  fever,  and 
died  a  few  days  later. 

Elena  grieved  greatly,  and  it  was  long  before 
she  could  get  to  sleep  at  night  after  she  heard  of 
Katya's  death.  The  last  words  of  the  little  beg- 
gar child  rang  incessantly  in  her  ears,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  they  were  calling  her.  .  .  . 

But  the  years  followed  years ;  swiftly  and  inau- 
dibly,  like  the  waters  beneath  the  snows,  Elena's 
youth  flowed  past  in  outward  idleness,  in  in- 
ward strife  and  unrest.  She  had  no  friends:  she 
did  not  become  intimate  with  a  single  one  of  the 
young  girls  who  visited  the   Stakliofl's'  house. 

49 


ON  THE  EVE 

Parental  authority  never  weighed  heavily  upon 
Elena,  and  at  the  age  of  sixteen  she  became  almost 
entirely  independent;  she  lived  her  own  life,  but 
a  lonely  life.  Her  soul  burned  and  expired  alone, 
she  beat  her  wings  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,  but  there 
was  no  cage:  no  one  checked  her,  no  one  re- 
strained her,  yet  she  was  restless  and  pined. 
Sometimes  she  did  not  understand  herself,  she 
was  even  afraid  of  herself.  Everything  around 
her  seemed  to  her  either  senseless  or  incompre- 
hensible. "  How  can  one  live  without  love?  but 
there  is  no  one  to  love! "  she  thought,  and  fear 
fell  upon  her  at  that  thought,  at  those  sensations. 
At  eighteen,  she  came  near  dying  of  a  malignant 
fever.  Shaken  to  the  very  foundations,  her  whole 
organism,  strong  and  healthy  by  nature,  was  un- 
able, for  a  long  time,  to  recover  itself;  the  last 
traces  of  illness  disappeared,  at  last,  but  Elena 
Nikolaevna's  father  still  talked,  not  without 
wrath,  about  her  nerves.  Sometimes  she  took  it 
into  her  head  that  she  wanted  something  which 
no  one,  in  the  whole  of  Russia,  wishes,  thinks  of. 
Then  she  calmed  down,  even  laughed  at  herself, 
spent  day  after  day  in  careless  unconcern;  but 
suddenly  something  powerful,  nameless,  which 
she  was  not  able  to  control,  fairly  seethed  up 
within  her,  and  demanded  to  burst  its  way  out. 
The  tempest  passed  over,  the  weary  wings,  which 
had  not  soared,  drooped;  but  these  fits  left  their 
mark  upon  her.    Try  as  she  would  not  to  betray 

50 


ON  THE  EVE 

what  was  taking  place  within  her,  the  sadness  of 
her  agitated  soul  was  revealed  in  her  very  external 
composure,  and  her  relatives  often  had  a  right  to 
shrug  their  shoulders,  to  marvel,  and  to  fail  to 
comprehend  her  "  peculiarities." 

On  the  day  upon  which  our  story  began,  Elena 
did  not  leave  her  window  until  long  after  her  ac- 
customed time.  She  thought  a  great  deal  about 
BersenefF,  about  her  conversation  with  him.  She 
liked  him ;  she  had  faith  in  the  warmth  of  his  feel- 
ings, in  the  purity  of  his  intentions.  Never  be- 
fore had  he  talked  with  her  as  on  that  evening. 
She  recalled  the  expression  of  his  bold  eyes,  of 
his  smile — and  smiled  herself,  and  fell  into  rev- 
erie, but  it  was  no  longer  about  him.  She  set  to 
gazing  out  into  "  the  night "  through  the  open 
window.  For  a  long  time  she  gazed  at  the  dark, 
low-hanging  heaven;  then  she  rose,  with  a  ges- 
ture tossed  the  hair  back  from  her  face,  and, 
without  herself  knowing  why,  she  stretched  out, 
toward  that  heaven,  her  bare,  cold  arms ;  then  she 
dropped  them,  knelt  down  before  her  bed,  pressed 
her  face  to  her  pillow,  and  in  spite  of  all  her 
efforts  not  to  yield  to  the  feeling  which  was 
sweeping  in  upon  her,  she  fell  to  weeping  with 
strange,  amazed,  but  burning  tears. 


51 


VII 

On  the  following  day,  at  twelve  o'clock,  Berse- 
neiF  set  out  for  Moscow  with  a  cabman  who  was 
returning  thither.  He  had  to  get  some  money 
from  the  post-office  to  purchase  certain  books, 
and  he  wished,  incidentally,  to  see  InsarofF  and 
have  a  conference  with  him.  The  idea  had  oc- 
curred to  Berseneff,  during  his  last  chat  with 
Shiibin,  to  invite  InsarofF  to  visit  him  at  the  villa. 
But  he  did  not  speedily  find  him:  he  had  re- 
moved from  his  former  lodgings  to  other  quar- 
ters, which  v/ere  awkward  to  reach.  They  were 
situated  in  the  rear  courtyard  of  a  hideous  stone 
house,  built  in  the  Petersburg  style,  between 
Arbat  Square  and  Povarskaya  Street.  In  vain 
did  BersenefF  wander  from  one  dirty  entrance 
to  another,  in  vain  did  he  call  out  now  to  the  yard- 
porter,  now  to  "  somebody."  Even  in  Peters- 
burg the  yard-porters  endeavour  to  avoid  the 
gaze  of  visitors,  and  much  more  so  in  Moscow :  no 
one  answered  BersenefF's  shouts:  only  a  curious 
tailor,  in  nothing  but  his  waistcoat,  and  with  a 
skein  of  grey  thread  on  his  shoulder,  silently 
thrust  through  the  hinged  pane  of  a  window  high 
up  his  dull  and  unshaven  face,  with  black,  bruised 

52 


ON  THE  EVE 

eyes,  and  a  black,  hornless  goat,  which  had 
climbed  upon  a  dung-heap  turned  round,  bleated 
pitifully,  and  began  to  chew  its  cud  more  briskly 
than  before.  A  woman  in  an  old  sleeved  cloak 
and  patched  shoes  took  pity,  at  last,  upon  Berse- 
neiF,  and  pointed  out  to  him  InsarofF's  lodgings. 
BersenefF  found  him  at  home.  He  had  hired  a 
chamber  from  the  very  tailor  who  had  gazed  so 
indifferently  from  the  hinged  pane  at  the  embar- 
rassment of  the  straying  man, — a  large,  almost 
perfectly  bare  chamber,  with  dark-green  walls, 
three  square  windows,  a  tiny  bed  in  one  corner, 
a  leather-covered  couch  in  another,  and  a  huge 
cage  suspended  close  to  the  ceiling;  in  this  cage 
a  nightingale  had  once  lived.  Insaroff  advanced 
to  meet  Berseneff  as  soon  as  the  latter  crossed  the 
threshold,  but  did  not  exclaim,  "  Ah,  is  that 
you!"  or,  "  Akh,  my  God!  what  brings  you 
here?  "  He  did  not  even  say,  "  Good-morning," 
but  simply  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
to  the  only  chair  in  the  room. 

"  Sit  down," — he  said,  and  seated  himself  on 
the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  Things  are  still  in  disorder  with  me,  as  you 
see," — added  Insaroff,  pointing  at  a  pile  of  pa- 
pers and  books  on  the  floor;  "  I  have  not  yet  in- 
stalled myself  properly.  I  have  not  had  time 
as  yet." 

Insaroff  spoke  Russian  with  perfect  correct- 
ness,   pronouncing    each    word    strongly    and 

53 


ON  THE  EVE 

clearly;  but  his  guttural,  though  agreeable  voice 
had  a  certain  ring  which  was  not  Russian.  In- 
saroff's  foreign  extraction  (he  was  a  Bulgarian 
by  birth)  was  still  more  plainly  apparent  in  his 
personal  appearance:  he  was  a  young  man  five- 
and-twenty  years  of  age,  thin  and  wiry,  with  a 
hollow  chest  and  angular  arms ;  he  had  sharp  fea- 
tures, a  nose  with  a  hump,  bluish-black  straight 
hair,  a  small  forehead,  small  deep-set  eyes  with 
an  intent  gaze,  and  thick  eyebrows;  when  he 
smiled,  very  handsome  white  teeth  made  their  ap- 
pearance for  an  instant  from  beneath  thick, 
harsh,  too  clearly  outlined  lips.  He  was  dressed 
in  an  old  but  neat  frock-coat,  buttoned  to  the  chin. 

"  Why  have  you  removed  from  your  former 
lodging?  " — BersenefF  asked  him. 

"  This  one  is  cheaper;  it  is  nearer  the  univer- 
sity." 

"  But  it  is  vacation-time  now  .  .  .  And  what 
possesses  you  to  live  in  town  during  the  summer? 
You  ought  to  have  hired  a  villa,  if  you  had  made 
up  your  mind  to  move." 

InsarofF  made  no  reply  to  this  remark,  and 
offered  Berseneff  a  pipe,  with  the  words:  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  I  have  no  cigarettes  or  cigars." 

Berseneff  lighted  the  pipe. 

"  Now  I,"  he  went  on, — "  have  hired  a  little 
house  near  Kuntzovo.  It  is  very  cheap,  and  very 
convenient.  So  that  there  is  even  an  extra  room 
up-stairs." 

54 


ON  THE  EVE 

Again  InsarofF  made  no  reply. 

Berseneff  stretched  himself. 

"  I  have  even  been  thinking," — he  began  again, 
emitting  the  smoke  in  a  thin  stream, — "  that  if, 
for  example,  I  were  to  find  any  one  .  .  .  you, 
for  example, — that  is  what  I  was  thinking  .... 
who  would  like  ....  who  would  consent  to 
install  himself  up-stairs  in  my  house  ....  how 
nice  it  would  be !  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Dmi- 
try Nikanoritch? " 

InsarofF  turned  his  small  eyes  on  him. — 
"  Are  you  proposing  that  I  should  live  with  you 
in  your  villa? " 

"  Yes;  I  have  an  extra  chamber  up-stairs." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Andrei  Pe- 
trovitch;  but  I  do  not  think  that  my  means  will 
permit  me  to  do  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  They  will  not  permit  me  to  live  in  a  villa.  I 
cannot  afford  two  sets  of  lodgings." 

"  Why,  but  I  .  .  .  "  Berseneff  began,  then 
paused. — "  You  would  not  be  at  any  extra  ex- 
pense,"— he  went  on. — "  Your  present  lodgings 
could  be  retained  for  you,  let  us  assume;  on  the 
other  hand,  everything  is  very  cheap  there;  we 
might  even  arrange,  for  example,  to  dine  to- 
gether." 

InsarofF  maintained  silence,  Berseneff  felt 
awkward. 

"  At  all  events,  come  and  visit  me  sometime,* 

55 


it 


ON  THE  EVE 

he  began,  after  waiting  a  while. — "  A  couple  of 
steps  from  me  lives  a  family  with  whom  I  am 
very  anxious  to  make  you  acquainted.  If  you 
only  knew,  InsarofF,  what  a  splendid  young  girl 
there  is  there !  One  of  my  most  intimate  friends 
lives  there  also,  a  man  of  great  talent ;  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  will  take  to  him."  (A  Russian 
loves  to  stand  treat — if  with  nothing  else,  then 
with  his  acquaintances. )  — "  Really,  now,  do  come. 
But,  better  still,  come  and  live  with  us, — really 
you  ought.  We  might  work  together,  read  .  .  . 
you  know,  I  am  busying  myself  with  history  and 
philosophy.  You  are  interested  in  all  that.  I 
have  a  great  manj^  books." 

Insaroff  rose  and  paced  the  room. — "  Allow 
me  to  inquire," — he  asked  at  last, — "  how  much 
you  pay  for  your  villa?  " 

"  One  hundred  rubles." 

*'  And  how  many  rooms  has  it?  " 

"  Five." 

"  Consequently,  by  computation,  one  room 
would  cost  twenty  rubles?  " 

"Yes.  .  .  But,  good  gracious!  I  don't  need  it 
at  all.    It  is  simply  standing  empty." 

"Possibly;  but  listen," — added  Insaroif  with 
a  decided  but,  at  the  same  time,  ingenuous  move- 
ment of  the  head:—"  I  can  accept  your  propo- 
sition only  in  case  you  will  consent  to  take  the 
money  from  me  according  to  the  computation. 
I  am  able  to  give  twenty  rubles,  the  more  so  as, 

56 


ON  THE  EVE 

according  to  your  words,  I  shall  be  effecting  an 
economy  on  everything  else  there." 

"  Of  course ;  but,  really,  I  am  ashamed  to  do 
it." 

"  It  cannot  be  done  otherwise,  Andrei  Petro- 
vitch." 

"Well,  as  you  like;  only,  what  an  obstinate 
fellow  you  are! " 

Again  Insaroff  said  nothing. 

The  young  men  came  to  an  agreement  as  to  the 
day  on  which  Insaroff  was  to  move.  They  called 
the  landlord,  but  first  he  sent  his  daughter,  a 
a  little  girl  seven  years  of  age,  with  a  huge,  mot- 
ley-hued  kerchief  on  her  head;  she  listened  with 
attention,  almost  in  affright,  to  everything  In- 
saroff said  to  her,  and  silently  went  away;  after 
her,  her  mother,  who  was  near  her  confinement, 
made  her  appearance,  also  with  a  kerchief  on  her 
head,  only  it  was  tiny.  Insaroff  explained  to  her 
that  he  was  going  to  move  to  a  country  villa  near 
Kuntzovo,  but  retained  the  lodging,  and  en- 
trusted all  his  things  to  her ;  the  tailor's  wife  also 
seemed  to  take  fright,  and  retired.  Finally,  the 
master  of  the  house  came;  at  first,  he  seemed  to 
understand  all  about  it,  and  only  remarked 
thoughtfully:  "  Near  Kuntzovo?  "  but  then  sud- 
denly flung  open  the  door,  and  shouted,  "  Are 
the  lodgings  to  be  kept  for  you,  pray?  "  Insaroff 
soothed  him.  "  Because,  I  must  know,"  repeated 
the  tailor  gruffly,  and  disappeared. 

57 


ON  THE  EVE 

BersenefF  went  his  way,  very  much  pleased 
with  the  success  of  his  proposition.  Insaroff 
escorted  him  to  the  door,  with  an  amiable  cour- 
tesy which  is  not  much  in  use  in  Russia ;  and  when 
he  was  left  alone,  he  carefully  removed  his  coat, 
and  busied  himself  with  putting  his  papers  in 
order. 


58 


VIII 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna  was  sitting  in  her  drawing-room,  and  pre- 
paring to  weep.  Besides  herself,  there  were  in 
the  room  her  husband  and  a  certain  Uvar  Ivano- 
vitch  StakhoiF,  Nicolai  Artemievitch's  great- 
uncle,  a  cornet  on  the  retired  list,  aged  sixty,  a 
man  obese  to  the  point  of  being  unable  to  move, 
with  small,  sleepy,  yellow  eyes,  and  thick,  colour- 
less lips  in  a  bloated  yellow  face.  Ever  since  his 
retirement  from  the  army,  he  had  lived  uninter- 
ruptedly in  Moscow  on  the  interest  from  a  small 
capital  which  had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  his 
wife,  a  member  of  the  merchant  class.  He  did 
nothing,  and  it  is  hardly  probable  that  he  thought ; 
but  if  he  did  think,  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  him- 
self. Only  once  in  the  course  of  his  life  had  he 
become  excited  and  displayed  activity,  namely: 
when  he  read  in  the  newspapers  about  a  new  in- 
strument at  the  London  International  Expo- 
sition: a  "  controbombardon,"  and  wanted  to  im- 
port that  instrument,  and  even  inquired  where 
he  was  to  send  the  money,  and  through  what 
office.  Uvar  Ivanovitch  wore  a  capacious  sack- 
coat,  snuff -brown  in  hue,  and  a  white  necker- 

59 


ON  THE  EVE 

chief,  ate  much  and  often,  and  only  in  embar- 
rassing circumstances, — that  is  to  say,  on  every 
occasion  when  it  behooved  him  to  express  any 
opinion, — did  he  wiggle  the  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  convulsively  in  the  air,  beginning  first  with 
the  thumb  and  running  to  the  little  finger,  then 
beginning  with  the  little  finger  and  ending  with 
the  thumb,  with  difficulty  articulating:  "  It  ought 
.  .  .  somehow,  you  know  ..." 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair 
by  the  window  and  breathing  hard,  Nikolai  Ar- 
temievitch  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room 
with  great  strides,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his 
pockets:  his  face  expressed  displeasure. 

He  came  to  a  halt,  at  last,  and  shook  his  head. 
— "  Yes," — he  began, — "  in  our  day,  young  peo- 
ple were  brought  up  diff'erently.  Young  people 
did  not  permit  themselves  to  be  lacking  in  respect 
for  their  elders."  (He  pronounced  the  ma'n} 
through  his  nose,  in  French  fashion. )  "  But  now, 
all  I  can  do  is  to  look  on  and  marvel.  Perhaps 
I  am  not  right,  and  they  are ;  but  I  was  not  a  born 
dolt.  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Uvar  Ivano- 
vitch?" 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  merely  stared  at  him,  and 
twiddled  his  fingers. 

"  There  is  Elena  Nikolaevna,  for  instance," — 
pursued  Nikolai  Artemievitch — "  I  don't  under- 
stand Elena  Nikolaevna,  really  I  don't.    I  'm  not 

^  Manktrovat,  to  be  lacking  in  respect.— Tea nslatob, 

CO 


ON^  THE  EVE 

sufficiently  lofty  for  her.  Her  heart  is  so  capa- 
cious that  it  embraces  all  nature,  down  to  the 
very  tiniest  cockroach  or  frog, — in  a  word,  every- 
thing, with  the  exception  of  her  father.  Well, 
very  good ;  I  know  it,  and  I  don't  meddle.  For 
it  is  a  question  of  nerves,  and  learning,  and  soar- 
ing heavenward,  and  all  that  is  not  in  our  line. 
But  Mr.  Shiibin  ...  let  us  assume  that  he  is  an 
artist,  a  wonderful,  remarkable  artist,  I  do 
not  dispute  that;  but  for  him  to  be  lacking  in 
respect  toward  his  elder,  toward  a  man  to 
whom,  nevertheless,  he  may  be  said  to  owe  a 
great  deal, — that  is  what  I,  I  must  confess, 
dans  mon  gros  hon  sens^  cannot  allow.  I  am  not 
exacting  by  nature,  no,  but  there  is  a  limit  to  all 
things." 

Anna  Vasilievna  rang  the  bell  in  an  agitated 
manner.    A  page  entered. 

"Why  does  not  Pavel  Yakovlevitch  come?" 
she  said.     "Why  cannot  I  get  him  to  come?" 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
— "  But  why,  for  goodness  sake,  do  you  want  to 
summon  him  ?  I  am  not  demanding  it  in  the  least, 
I  do  not  even  desire  it. 

"  ^Vhy  do  you  ask  the  reason,  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch? He  has  disturbed  you;  perhaps  he  has  in- 
terfered with  your  course  of  treatment.  I  want 
to  call  him  to  account.  I  want  to  know  in  what 
way  he  has  angered  you." 

"  I  tell  you  again  that  I  do  not  demand  it. 

61 


ON  THE  EVE 

And  what  possesses  you  .  .  .  devant  les  domes- 
tiques  .  .  .  .'* 

Anna  Vasilievna  blushed  slightly.—"  There  is 
no  need  of  your  saying  that,  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch.  I  never  .  .  .  devant  .  ...  les  domes- 
tiques  .  .  .  Go  away,  Fediushka,  and  see  that 
thou  bringest  Pavel  Yakovlevitch  hither  imme- 
diately." 

The  page  left  the  room. 

"  But  that  is  not  in  the  least  necessary," — 
muttered  Nikolai  Artemievitch  between  his  teeth, 
and  again  he  began  to  stride  up  and  down  the 
room.  "  I  had  not  that  in  view  at  all,  when  I 
started  the  subject." 

"  Mercy  me !    Paul  ought  to  apologise  to  you." 

*'  Good  heavens!  What  do  I  want  of  his  apol- 
ogies? And  what  are  apologies?  Mere  phrases." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  not  wanting  him  to 
apologise?    He  must  be  brought  to  his  senses." 

"  Bring  him  to  his  senses  yourself.  He  will 
listen  to  you  more  readily  than  to  me.  But  I 
make  no  charges  against  him." 

"  Really,  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  you  have  been 
out  of  humour  ever  since  your  arrival  to-day.  I 
have  even  seen  you  growing  thin  before  my  very 
eyes.  I  'm  afraid  your  course  of  treatment  is 
not  helping  you." 

"  My  course  of  treatment  is  indispensable  to 
me," — remarked  Nikolai  Artemievitch;  "my  liver 
is  out  of  order." 

62 


ON  THE  EVE 

At  that  moment,  Shubin  entered.  He  seemed 
weary.  A  slight,  almost  mocking  smile  played 
about  his  lips. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Anna  Vasilievna?  " — ^he 
said. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  sent  for  thee.  Good  hea- 
vens !  Paul,  this  is  terrible.  I  am  very  much  dis- 
pleased with  thee.  How  canst  thou  be  lacking 
in  respect  to  Nikolai  Artemievitch  ?  " 

"  Has  Nikolai  Artemievitch  been  complaining 
to  you  about  me? " — asked  Shubin,  and  glanced 
at  StakhofF,  with  the  same  mocking  smile  on  his 
lips.  The  latter  turned  away  and  dropped  his 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  he  has.  I  do  not  know  how  thou  art  to 
blame  toward  him,  but  thou  must  apologise  in- 
stantly, because  his  health  is  very  much  shaken 
at  present;  and,  in  short,  we  are  all  bound,  in 
our  youth,  to  respect  our  benefactors." 

"Ekli,  is  that  logic?"  thought  Shubin,  and 
turned  to  Stakhoff. — "  I  am  ready  to  apologise 
to  you,  Nikolai  Artemievitch,"  he  said  with  a 
courteous  half -bow,  "  if  I  really  have  offended 
you  in  any  way." 

"  I  did  n't  in  the  least  .  .  .  mean  it  that  way," 
— returned  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  as  before 
avoiding  Shubin's  eyes.—"  However,  I  willingly 
pardon  you,  because,  you  know,  I  am  not  an  ex- 
acting man." 

"  Oh,  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  about 

63 


ON  THE  EVE 

that!" — said  Shubin.  "But  permit  me  to  in- 
quire whether  Anna  Vasilievna  is  acquainted 
with  the  precise  nature  of  my  offence?  " 

"  No,  I  know  nothing," — remarked  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna, and  stretched  out  her  neck. 

"Oh,  gracious  heavens!" — exclaimed  Nikolai 
Artemievitch  hastily: — "  how  many  times  already 
have  I  begged  and  entreated,  how  many  times 
have  I  said  how  repugnant  to  me  are  all  these  ex- 
planations and  scenes !  When  a  man  comes  home 
once  in  an  age,  he  wants  to  rest, — I  tell  you,  in 
the  domestic  circle,  interieur^  he  wants  to  be  a 
family  man; — but  there  are  scenes,  unpleasant- 
nesses. There  's  not  a  minute's  peace.  One  is 
forced  to  go  to  the  club  .  .  or  somewhere  .  . 
against  his  will.  The  man  is  alive,  he  has  a  phys- 
ical side,  it  has  its  demands,  but  here  .  .  .  ." 

And  without  completing  the  phrase  he  had  be- 
gun, Nikolai  Artemievitch  swiftly  quitted  the 
room  and  banged  the  door.  Anna  Vasilievna 
gazed  after  him. — "  To  the  club?  " — she  whis- 
pered bitterly: — "  You  are  not  going  to  the  club, 
giddypate !  There  is  no  one  at  the  club  to  whom 
you  can  give  horses  from  my  stud-farm — and 
grey  ones,  at  that!  My  favourite  colour.  Yes, 
yes,  a  light-minded  man!"— she  added,  raising 
her  voice: — "  You  are  not  going  to  the  club.  As 
for  thee,  Paul,"— she  continued,  as  she  rose,— 
"  art  not  thou  ashamed  of  thyself?  Thou  art 
not   a  child,   I   think.    There  now,   I  have   a 

64 


ON  THE  EVE 

headache  coming  on.  Where  is  Zoya,  dost  thou 
know? " 

"  I  think  she  is  up-stairs,  in  her  own  room. 
That  sagacious  Httle  fox  always  hides  herself  in 
her  own  den  in  such  weather  as  this." 

"  Come  now,  please,  please  stop  that  I " — 
Anna  Vasilievna  fumbled  about  her. 

"Hast  thou  seen  my  wine-glass  of  grated  horse- 
radish?   Paul,  please  do  not  anger  me  in  future." 

"  Why  should  I  anger  you,  Aunty?  Let  me 
kiss  your  hand.  And  I  saw  your  horse-radish  on 
a  little  table  in  the  boudoir." 

"  Darya  is  forever  forgetting  it  somewhere 
or  other," — said  Anna  Vasilievna,  and  went  away, 
rustling  her  silk  gown. 

Shubin  started  to  follow  her,  but  paused  on 
hearing  behind  him  the  deliberate  voice  of  Uvar 
Ivanovitch. 

"  Thou  didst  not  get  ....  what  thou  hast 
deserved  ....  puppy," — said  the  retired  cor- 
net, with  stops  and  pauses. 

Shubin  stepped  up  to  him. — *'  And  for  what 
ought  I  to  have  been  punished,  laudable  Uvar 
Ivanovitch? " 

"For  what?  Thou  art  young,  therefore  re- 
spect.   Yes." 

"  Whom? " 

"Whom?     Thou  knowest  well  whom.     Grin 

away." 

Shubin  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest. 

65 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Akh,  you  representative  of  primitive,  uni- 
versal principle," — ^he  exclaimed, — "  you  black- 
earth  force,  you  foundation  of  the  social  edifice!  " 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  wiggled  his  fingers. — 
"Enough,  my  good  fellow;  don't  try  my  pa- 
tience." 

"  Here  you  have  a  nobleman  who  is  not  young, 
apparently," — went  on  Shiibin, — "  yet  how  much 
happy,  childish  faith  still  lies  smouldering  within 
him!  Revere  him!  But  do  you  know,  you  ele- 
mental man,  why  Nikolai  Artemievitch  is  wroth 
with  me?  You  see,  I  spent  the  whole  morning, 
to-day,  with  him,  at  his  German  woman's;  you 
see,  we  sang  a  trio  to-day,  *  Leave  me  not ' ;  you 
just  ought  to  have  heard  it.  That  would  affect 
you,  I  think.  We  sang,  my  dear  sir,  we  sang — 
well,  and  I  got  bored ;  I  saw  that  things  were  not 
as  they  should  be;  there  was  a  lot  of  tenderness. 
I  began  to  tease  them  both.  It  turned  out  finely. 
First  she  got  angry  with  me ;  then  with  him ;  then 
he  got  furious  with  her,  and  told  her  that  he  was 
happy  nowhere  but  at  home,  and  that  he  had  a 
paradise  there ;  and  I  said  to  her : '  Ach ! '  German 
fashion ;  he  went  away,  and  I  remained ;  he  came 
hither, — to  paradise,  that  is  to  say,— but  paradise 
nauseates  him.  So  he  took  to  growling.  Well, 
sir,  and  who  is  to  blame  now,  in  your  opinion?  " 

"  Thou,  of  course," — replied  Uvar  Ivanovitch. 

Shiibin  stared  at  him. — "  May  I  make  so  bold 
as  to  ask  you,  respected  knight-errant," — he  be- 

66 


ON  THE  EVE 

gan,  in  an  obsequious  voice: — "  whether  it  is  your 
pleasure  to  utter  those  enigmatic  words  in  con- 
sequence of  some  combination  of  your  thinking 
faculties,  or  under  the  inspiration  of  the  mo- 
mentary necessity  to  produce  that  vibration 
known  as  sound?  " 

"  Don't  tempt  me," — groaned  Uvar  Ivano- 
vitch.  .  .  . 

Shiibin  laughed,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. — 
"  Hey,    there," — shouted    Uvar    Ivanovitch,    a 

quarter   of   an   hour   later: — "  I   say a 

glass  of  whiskey." 

The  page  brought  the  whiskey  and  a  little  solid 
refreshment  on  a  tray.  Uvar  Ivanovitch  softly 
took  the  wine-glass  from  the  tray,  and  stared  at 
it  long  and  intently,  as  though  he  did  not  quite 
understand  what  sort  of  thing  he  had  in  his  hand. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  page  and  asked  if  his 
name  were  not  Vaska.  Then  he  assumed  a  pained 
expression,  took  a  bite,  and  dived  into  his  pocket 
for  his  handkerchief.  But  the  page  had  long 
since  carried  off  the  tray  and  the  carafe  to  their 
place,  and  had  eaten  the  remains  of  the  her- 
ring, and  had  already  succeeded  in  falling 
asleep,  leaning  up  against  his  master's  overcoat, 
while  Uvar  Ivanovitch  was  still  holding  his  hand- 
kerchief in  front  of  his  face  with  outspread  fin- 
gers, and  staring  now  out  of  the  window,  now  at 
the  floor  and  walls,  with  the  same  fixed  attention. 


67 


IX 

Shubin  returned  to  his  own  chamber  in  the  wing 
and  was  about  to  open  a  book.  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch's  valet  cautiously  entered  the  room  and 
handed  him  a  small,  three-cornered  note,  the  seal 
of  which  bore  a  large  coat-of-arms. — "  I  hope," 
ran  this  note,  "  that  you,  as  an  honourable  man, 
will  not  permit  yourself  to  hint,  by  so  much  as  a 
single  word,  at  a  certain  note  of  hand  which  was 
discussed  this  morning.  You  know  my  relations 
and  my  principles,  the  insignificance  of  the  sum 
itself,  and  other  circumstances,— in  short,  there 
are  family  secrets  which  must  be  respected,  and 
family  peace  is  such  a  sacred  thing,  that  only  etres 
sans  coeurs,  among  whom  I  have  no  reason  to 
reckon  you,  repudiate  them!  (Return  this  note.) 
N.  S." 

Shubin  scrawled  below  it,  with  a  pencil: 
*'  Don't  worry,  I  don't  pick  people's  pockets  of 
their  handkerchiefs  yet " ;  returned  the  note  to 
the  valet,  and  again  took  up  his  book.  But  it  soon 
slipped  from  his  hands.  He  gazed  at  the  crim- 
son sky,  at  two  sturdy  young  pine-trees,  which 
stood  apart  from  the  other  trees,  and  thought: 
"  Pine-trees  are  blue  b}^  daylight,  but  how  mag- 

68 


ON  THE  EVE 

nificently  green  they  are  in  the  evening,"  and  be- 
took himself  to  the  garden,  in  the  secret  hope  of 
meeting  Elena  there.  He  was  not  disappointed. 
Ahead  of  him,  on  the  path  between  the  shrubs, 
her  gown  was  fluttering.  He  overtook  her,  and 
as  he  came  alongside,  he  said: 

"  Don't  glance  in  my  direction,  I  am  not 
worthy  of  it." 

She  cast  a  fleeting  glance  at  him,  gave  an  eva- 
nescent smile,  and  pursued  her  way  toward  the 
depths  of  the  garden.     Shiibin  followed  her. 

"  I  request  that  you  will  not  look  at  me," — 
he  began — "  yet  I  address  you:  a  manifest  con- 
tradiction! But  that  makes  no  difl'erence:  it  's 
not  the  first  time  I  've  done  it.  I  just  remem- 
bered that  I  had  not  yet  asked  your  pardon,  in 
proper  form,  for  my  stupid  sally  of  yesterday. 
You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Elena  Nikolaevna?  " 

She  paused,  and  did  not  answer  him  at  once — 
not  because  she  was  angry,  but  her  thoughts  were 
far  away. 

"  No," — she  said  at  last, — "  I  am  not  in  the 
least  angry." 

Shiibin  bit  his  lip. 

"  What  an  anxious  .  .  .  and  what  an  indiff'er- 
ent  face!  "  he  murmured. — "  Elena  Nikolaevna," 
— he  went  on,  raising  his  voice: — "  permit  me  to 
narrate  to  you  a  little  anecdote.  I  had  a  friend ; 
this  friend  also  had  a  friend,  who  first  behaved 
himself  as  an  honest  man  should,  and  then  took 

69 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  drink.  So,  early  one  morning,  my  friend 
meets  him  on  the  street  (and  please  to  observe 
that  they  had  ceased  to  know  each  other)  — 
meets  him,  and  perceives  that  he  is  drmik.  My 
friend  took  and  turned  away  from  him.  But  the 
other  man  stepped  up,  and  says :  '  I  would  n't 
have  been  angry  if  you  had  not  bowed,  but  why 
do  you  turn  away  ?  Perhaps  I  do  this  from  grief. 
Peace  to  my  ashes! '  " 

Shubin  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Is  that  all?  "—asks  Elena. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  What  are  you  hint- 
ing at?  You  just  told  me  not  to  look  in  your 
direction." 

"  Yes,  but  now  I  have  told  you  how  bad  it  is 
to  turn  away." 

"  But  did  I  .  .  .  "  Elena  was  beginning. 

"But  did  n't  you?" 

Elena  flushed  faintly,  and  offered  Shubin  her 
hand.    He  pressed  it  firmly. 

"  You  seem  to  have  caught  me  in  ill-feeling," 
— said  Elena, — "  but  your  suspicion  is  unjust. 
I  never  even  thought  of  avoiding  you." 

"  Let  us  admit  that,  let  us  admit  it.  But  con- 
fess that  at  this  moment  you  have  in  your  head  a 
thousand  thoughts,  not  one  of  which  you  will  con- 
fide to  me.    Well?  am  not  I  speaking  the  truth?  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  " 

"But  why  is  it?    Wliy?" 

70 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  My  thoughts  are  not  clear  to  myself," — said 
Elena. 

"  That  is  precisely  the  reason  why  you  should 
confide  them  to  another  person," — interposed 
Shiibin.  "  But  I  will  tell  you  what  the  matter 
is.    You  have  a  bad  opinion  of  me." 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  you.  You  imagine  that  everything 
about  me  is  half -spurious,  because  I  am  an  artist ; 
that  I  not  only  am  not  capable  of  any  business 
whatever, — as  to  that,  you  are,  in  all  probability, 
quite  right, — but  even  of  any  genuine,  profound 
feeling ;  that  I  cannot  even  weep  sincerely,  that  I 
am  a  chatterbox  and  a  scandal-monger, — all  be- 
cause I  am  an  artist.  After  that,  are  n't  we  un- 
fortunate, God-slain  people?  You,  for  example, 
whom  I  am  ready  to  worship,  do  not  believe  in 
my  repentance." 

"  Yes,  Pavel  Yakovlevitch,  I  do  believe  in 
your  repentance,  I  believe  in  your  tears.  But  it 
seems  to  me,  that  your  very  repentance  amuses 
you,  and  so  do  your  tears." 

Shiibin  shuddered. 

*'  Well,  as  the  doctors  express  it,  I  seem  to  be 
an  incurable  case,  casus  incur abilis.  All  that  is 
left  for  me  to  do,  is  to  bow  my  head  and  submit. 
But  in  the  meantime,  O  Lord,  can  it  be  true,  can 
it  be  that  I  am  forever  fretting  over  myself, 
when  such  a  soul  is  living  by  my  side?  And  to 
know,  that  one  will  never  penetrate  into  that  soul, 

71 


ON  THE  EVE 

will  never  find  out,  why  it  grieves,  why  it  rejoices, 
what  is  fermenting  within  it,  what  it  craves, 
whither  it  is  going.  .  .  .  Tell  me,"— he  said, 
after  a  brief  pause: — "  would  you  never,  for  any 
consideration,  under  any  circumstances  whatever, 
fall  in  love  with  an  artist?  " 

Elena  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye. 

"  I  think  not,  Pavel  Yakovlevitch ;  no." 

*'  Which  remains  to  be  demonstrated," — re- 
marked Shiibin,  with  comical  dejection. — "  After 
this,  I  assume  that  it  would  be  more  decent  for 
me  not  to  interfere  with  your  solitary  stroll.  A 
professor  would  have  asked  you :  '  But  on  the 
foundation  of  what  data  have  you  said  no  ? '  But 
I  am  not  a  professor,  I  am  a  child,  according  to 
your  view;  so  remember,  do  not  turn  away  from 
children.     Farewell.     Peace  to  my  ashes!" 

Elena  was  on  the  point  of  detaining  him,  but 
changed  her  mind  and  said: — "  Farewell." 

Shubin  quitted  the  yard.  At  a  short  distance 
from  the  StakliofFs'  villa  Berseneff  met  him.  He 
was  walking  with  brisk  strides,  with  bowed  head, 
and  his  hat  pushed  back  on  his  nape. 

"Andrei  Petrovitch!" — shouted  Shubin. 

The  latter  came  to  a  halt. 

*'  Go  along,  go  along," — continued  Shubin : — 
"  I  did  it  thoughtlessly,  I  will  not  detain  thee, — 
and  wend  thy  way  straight  to  the  garden;  thou 
wilt  find  Elena  there. — She  is  expecting  thee,  I 
think  ....  she  is  expecting  some  one,  at  any 

n 


ON  THE  EVE 

rate.  .  .  .  Dost  thou  understand  the  force  of  the 
words  '  she  is  expecting '  ?  And  knowest  thou, 
brother,  one  remarkable  circumstance?  Imag- 
ine, here  I  have  been  living  in  the  same  house  with 
her  for  two  years.  I  am  in  love  with  her,  and  yet 
it  was  only  just  now,  a  moment  ago,  that  I  have 
— not  precisely  understood  but— seen  her.  I 
have  seen  her,  and  thrown  apart  my  hands  in  de- 
spair. Don't  look  at  me,  please,  with  that  falsely 
sarcastic  grin,  which  is  not  very  becoming  to  thy 
sedate  features.  Well,  yes,  I  understand,  thou 
wouldst  remind  me  of  Annushka.  What  of  that? 
I  don't  deny  it.  Annushkas  are  mates  for  such 
fellows  as  I.  So,  long  live  the  Annushkas,  and  the 
Zoyas,  and  even  the  very  Augustina  Christia- 
novnas !  Go  along  to  Elena,  now,  while  I  go  off 
to  ....  to  Annushka,  art  thou  thinking?  No, 
brother,  brother,  worse;  to  Prince  TchikurasoiF. 
He  's  a  Maecenas  of  Kazan  Tatar  origin,  after  the 
style  of  Bolgin.  Seest  thou  this  note  of  invita- 
tion, these  letters:  R.  S.  V.  P.?  Even  in  the 
country  I  have  no  peace.    Addio! " 

Berseneff  listened  to  Shubin's  tirade  to  the 
end,  in  silence  and  as  though  somewhat  ashamed 
on  his  account,  then  he  entered  the  yard  of  the 
StakhofF  villa.  And  Shubin  really  did  go  to 
Prince  TchikurasofF,  to  whom  he  uttered,  with 
the  most  amiable  mien,  the  most  pointed  imperti- 
nences. The  Maecenas  of  Kazan  Tatar  origin 
shouted   with   laughter,    the    JVIsecenas's   guests 

73 


ON  THE  EVE 

laughed  also,  and  no  one  was  merry,  and  when 
they  parted  all  were  in  a  rage.  Thus  do  two 
slightly-acquainted  gentlemen,  when  they  meet 
on  the  Nevsky,  suddenly  display  their  teeth  in  a 
grin  at  each  other,  mawkishly  wrinkle  up  their 
eyes,  noses,  and  cheeks,  and  then  immediately, 
as  soon  as  they  have  passed  each  other,  assume 
their  former  indifferent  or  morose,  chiefly  apo- 
plectic expression. 


74 


Elena  received  Berseneff  in  a  friendly  manner, 
not  in  the  garden,  but  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
immediately,  almost  impatiently,  renewed  their 
conversation  of  the  previous  evening.  She  was 
alone:  Nikolai  Artemievitch  had  quietly  slipped 
oiF  somewhere,  Anna  Vasilievna  was  lying  down 
up-stairs  with  a  wet  bandage  on  her  head.  Zoya 
was  sitting  beside  her,  with  her  skirt  primly  ar- 
ranged, and  her  hands  folded  on  her  knees ;  Uvar 
Ivanovitch  was  reposing  in  the  mezzanine  on 
a  broad,  comfortable  divan,  which  had  received 
the  nickname  of  "  the  doze-compeller."  Again 
BerseneiF  alluded  to  his  father:  he  held  his  mem- 
ory sacred.  Let  us  say  a  few  words  about  him. 
The  owner  of  eighty-two  souls,^  whom  he 
emancipated  before  his  death,  an  illuminatuSj  a 
former  student  at  Gottingen,  the  author  of  a 
manuscript  work,  "  The  Presentations  or  Pre- 
figurings  of  the  Soul  in  the  World," — a  work 
wherein  Schellingism,Swedenborgianism,and  re- 
publicanism were  intermingled  in  the  most  origi- 
nal manner — BersenefF's  father  brought  him  to 
Moscow  while  he  was  still  a  small  lad,  immedi- 
ately after  the  death  of  his  mother,  and  himself 

^  Male  serfs.  —Translator. 

75 


ON  THE  EVE 

undertook  his  education.  He  prepared  himself 
for  every  lesson,  and  toiled  with  remarkable  con- 
scientiousness and  with  utter  lack  of  success:  he 
was  a  dreamer,  a  book-worm,  a  mystic,  he  talked 
with  a  stutter,  in  a  dull  voice,  expressed  himself 
obscurely  and  in  an  involved  way,  chiefly  in  com- 
parisons, and  was  abashed  even  in  the  presence  of 
his  son,  whom  he  passionately  loved.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  son  was  merely  staggered  by  his 
lessons,  and  did  not  advance  a  hair's  breadth.  The 
old  man  (he  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  having 
married  very  late  in  life)  divined,  at  last,  that 
things  were  not  going  as  they  should,  and  placed 
his  Andriiisha  in  a  boarding-school.  Andriiisha 
began  to  learn,  but  did  not  escape  from  parental 
oversight :  the  father  visited  him  incessantly,  bor- 
ing the  head  of  the  school  to  death  with  his  exhor- 
tations and  conversations;  the  inspectors  also 
were  bored  by  the  unbidden  visitor:  he  was  con- 
stantly bringing  them  what  they  called  most 
amazing  books  on  education.  Even  the  scholars 
felt  uncomfortable  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man's 
tanned  and  pock-marked  face,  his  gaunt  figure, 
constantly  clad  in  a  spike-tailed  grey  dress-coat. 
The  school-boys  never  suspected  that  this  surly 
gentleman,  who  never  smiled,  with  his  stork-like 
gait  and  long  nose,  heartily  sympathised  and 
grieved  with  every  one  of  them,  almost  the  same 
as  he  did  with  his  own  son.  One  day  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  harangue  them  on  the  subject  of 

76 


ON  THE  EVE 

Washington:  "Youthful  nursHngs!"  he  began, 
but  at  the  first  sounds  of  his  queer  voice  the 
youthful  nurslings  dispersed.  The  honest  grad- 
uate of  Gottingen  did  not  live  on  roses:  he  was 
constantly  crushed  by  the  course  of  history,  by 
all  sorts  of  problems  and  considerations.  When 
young  BersenefF  entered  the  university,  he  ac- 
companied him  to  the  lectures ;  but  his  health  had 
already  begun  to  fail.  The  events  of  the  year 
'48  shattered  it  to  the  very  foundation  (he  was 
forced  to  make  his  book  all  over),  and  he  died 
in  the  winter  of  the  year  1853,  before  his  son 
graduated  from  the  university,  but  not  until  he 
had  congratulated  him  in  advance  on  having  ob- 
tained his  degree,  and  consecrated  him  to  the  ser- 
vice of  science.  "  I  transfer  the  torch  to  thee," — ■ 
he  said  to  him,  two  hours  before  his  death, — "  I 
have  held  it  as  long  as  I  could,  do  not  thou  let 
go  of  the  torch  until  the  end." 

BersenefF  talked  for  a  long  time  to  Elena  about 
his  father.  The  awkwardness  which  he  had  felt 
in  her  presence  vanished,  and  he  did  not  lisp  as 
badly  as  before.  The  conversation  turned  on 
the  university. 

"  Tell  me," — Elena  asked  him, — "  were  there 
any  remarkable  individuals  among  your  com- 
rades? " 

Again  BersenefF  recalled  Shiibin. 

"  No,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  to  tell  you  the  tiTith, 
there  was  not  a  single  individual  of  mark  among 

77 


ON  THE  EVE 

us.  Yes,  and  why  should  there  be!  There  was 
such  a  time  at  the  Moscow  University,  they  say! 
Only,  not  now.  Now  it  is  a  school,  not  a  univer- 
sity. I  have  had  a  hard  time  with  my  comrades," 
he  added,  dropping  his  head. 

"A  hard  time? "  whispered  Elena. 

"  However," — went  on  Berseneff , — "  I  must 
correct  myself:  I  know  one  student— he  is  not  in 
my  course,  it  is  true— who  really  is  a  remarkable 
man." 

"What  is  his  name?" — asked  Elena  with 
vivacity. 

"  Insaroif ,  Dmitry  Nikanorovitch.  He  is  a 
Bulgarian." 

"  Not  a  Russian?  " 

"  No,  not  a  Russian." 

"  But  why  is  he  living  in  Moscow? " 

"  He  has  come  hither  to  study.  And  do  you 
know,  with  what  object  he  is  studying?  He  has 
a  certain  idea:  the  liberation  of  his  native  land. 
And  his  lot  is  unusual.  His  father  was  a  fairly 
well-to-do  merchant,  a  native  of  Tirnovo.  Tir- 
novo  is  now  a  small  town,  but  in  olden  times  it 
used  to  be  the  capital  of  Bulgaria,  when  Bulgaria 
was  still  an  independent  kingdom.  He  traded 
in  Sofia,  he  had  relations  with  Russia;  his 
sister,  InsarofF's  own  aunt,  still  lives  in  Kieff, 
married  to  a  former  teacher  of  history  in  a  gym- 
nasium there.  In  1835,  that  is  to  say,  about 
eighteen  years  ago,  a  frightful  crime  was  perpe- 

78 


ON  THE  EVE 

trated:  InsarofF's  mother  suddenly  disappeared, 
without  leaving  a  trace:  a  week  later,  she  was 
found  with  her  throat  cut." 

Elena  shuddered.    BersenefF  paused. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  she  said. 

"Rumours were  in  circulation  that  she  had  been 
abducted  and  murdered  by  a  Turkish  Aga;  her 
husband,  Insaroff 's  father,  discovered  the  truth 
and  wanted  to  avenge  himself,  but  he  only 
wounded  the  Aga  with  his  dagger.  .  .  He  was 
shot." 

"Shot?    Without  a  trial?" 

"  Yes.  Insaroff  at  that  time  was  in  his  eighth 
year.  He  was  left  on  the  hands  of  the  neigh- 
bours. His  sister  learned  of  the  fate  of  her  bro- 
ther's family,  and  wanted  to  have  her  nephew 
with  her.  He  was  taken  to  Odessa,  and  thence  to 
KiefF.  In  KiefF  he  lived  for  twelve  years.  That 
is  why  he  speaks  Russian  so  well." 

"  Does  he  speak  Russian? " 

"  As  well  as  you  and  I  do.  When  he  was 
twenty  years  of  age  (that  was  in  the  beginning 
of  1848) ,  he  wanted  to  return  to  his  native  land. 
He  went  to  Sofia  and  Tirnovo,  and  traversed  the 
whole  of  Bulgaria,  in  its  length  and  breadth, 
spent  two  years  there,  and  learned  his  native  lan- 
guage again.  The  Turkish  government  perse- 
cuted him,  and  probably,  during  those  two  years, 
he  was  subjected  to  great  perils;  I  once  saw  on 
his  neck  a  broad  scar,  which  must  have  been  the 

79 


ON  THE  EVE 

vestige  of  a  wound;  but  he  does  not  like  to  talk 
about  it.  He  is  a  taciturn  fellow,  also,  in  his  way. 
I  have  tried  to  make  him  tell  me  all  about  it, — 
but  in  vain.  He  replies  in  general  phrases.  He 
is  frightfully  stubborn.  In  the  year  1850  he  re- 
turned again  to  Russia,  to  Moscow,  with  the  in- 
tention of  perfecting  his  culture,  of  getting  bet- 
ter acquainted  with  the  Russians.  Later  on,  when 
he  graduates  from  the  university " 

"  And  what  then?  "  interrupted  Elena. 

"  Whatever  God  sends.  It  is  difficult  to  con- 
jecture in  advance." 

For  a  long  time  Elena  did  not  remove  her  eyes 
from  BerseneiF. 

"  You  have  interested  me  greatly  with  your 
story,"  she  said. — "  What  is  he  like  personally, 
that  friend  of  yours, — what  did  you  say  his  name 
is?  .  .  .  InsarofF? " 

"  How  can  I  tell  you?  He  is  not  bad-looking, 
according  to  my  taste.  But  you  shall  see  him  for 
yourself." 

"How  so?" 

*'  I  shall  bring  him  hither  to  your  house.  He 
is  coming  to  our  hamlet  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, and  is  to  live  in  the  same  lodgings  with  me." 

"  Really?    But  will  he  care  to  come  to  us? " 

"  I  should  say  sol  He  will  be  very  glad  to 
come." 

"  He  is  not  proud." 

"He?— He?    Not  in  the  least.    That  is  to  say, 

80 


ON  THE  EVE 

he  is  proud,  if  you  like  to  call  it  that,  but  not  in 
the  sense  in  which  you  mean.  For  instance,  he 
will  not  borrow  money  from  any  one!  " 

"  And  is  he  poor?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  not  rich.  When  he  went  to  Bul- 
garia, he  got  together  a  few  crumbs,  which  had 
remained  intact  of  his  father's  property,  and  his 
aunt  aids  him;  but  all  that  is  a  mere  trifle." 

*'  He  must  have  a  great  deal  of  character," — 
remarked  Elena. 

"  Yes.  He  is  a  man  of  iron.  And,  at  the  same 
time,  as  you  will  see,  there  is  something  childlike, 
sincere  about  him,  with  all  his  concentration,  and 
even  secretiveness.  In  truth,  his  sincerity  is  not 
our  trashy  sincerity,  the  sincerity  of  people  who 

have  absolutely  nothing  to  conceal But 

I  will  bring  him  to  you, — just  wait." 

"And  he  is  not  shy?" — Elena  put  another 
question. 

"  No,  he  is  not  shy.  Only  self -conceited  peo- 
ple are  shy." 

"  And  are  you  conceited?  " 

Berseneff  became  confused,  and  flung  his 
hands  apart. 

"  You  arouse  my  curiosity," — continued  Elena. 
— "  But  come,  tell  me,  did  not  he  avenge  himself 
on  that  Turkish  Aga?" 

Berseneff  smiled. 

"  People  avenge  themselves  only  in  romances, 
Elena  Nikolaevna;  and,  moreover,  in  the  twelve 

81 


ON  THE  EVE 

years  which  had  elapsed,  the  Aga  might  have 
died." 

"  But  has  Mr.  InsarofF  told  you  nothing  about 
it?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Why  did  he  go  to  Sofia?" 

"  His  father  had  lived  there." 

Elena  became  thoughtful. 

"  To  free  his  fatherland !  "—she  said.—"  Those 
are  awkward  words  even  to  utter,  they  are  so 
great " 

At  that  moment,  Anna  Vasilievna  entered  the 
room,  and  the  conversation  came  to  an  end. 

Strange  sensations  agitated  BerseneiF  when 
he  returned  home  that  evening.  He  did  not  re- 
pent of  his  intention  to  make  Elena  acquainted 
with  InsarofF:  he  regarded  as  very  natural  the 
profound  impression  which  his  recitals  about  the 
young  Bulgarian  had  produced.  .  .  .  Had  not 
he  himself  endeavoured  to  strengthen  that  im- 
pression! But  a  secret  and  gloomy  feeling 
stealthily  made  its  nest  in  his  heart;  he  was  de- 
pressed with  a  sadness  which  was  not  pleasant. 
This  sadness  did  not,  however,  prevent  his  taking 
up  the  "  History  of  the  Hohenstaufens,"  and 
beginning  to  read  it,  at  the  very  same  page  where 
he  had  left  off  on  the  previous  evening. 


82 


XI 

Two  days  later,  InsarofF,  in  accordance  with  his 
promise,  presented  himself  to  BersenefF  with  his 
luggage.  He  had  no  servant,  but  he  put  his 
room  in  order  without  any  assistance,  placed  the 
furniture,  wiped  up  the  dust,  and  swept  the  floor. 
He  fidgeted  for  a  particularly  long  time  over 
the  writing-table,  which  absolutely  refused  to  fit 
the  wall-space  designated  for  it;  but  Insaroif, 
with  the  taciturn  persistence  peculiar  to  him,  had 
his  way.  Having  got  settled,  he  asked  BersenefF 
to  take  from  him  ten  rubles  in  advance,  and  arm- 
ing himself  with  a  stout  staff,  he  set  off  to  in- 
spect the  environs  of  his  new  residence.  He 
returned,  three  hours  later,  and  in  reply  to  Ber- 
senefF's  invitation  to  share  his  meal,  he  said  that 
he  would  not  refuse  to  dine  with  him  that  day,  but 
he  had  already  made  an  arrangement  with  the 
landlady,  and  thenceforth  he  would  get  his  food 
from  her. 

"  Good  gracious!  " — retorted  Berseneff :  "You 
will  be  badly  fed :  that  woman  does  not  know  the 
first  thing  about  cooking.  Why  are  not  you  will- 
ing to  dine  with  me?  We  could  have  shared  the 
expense." 

83 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  My  means  do  not  permit  me  to  dine  as  you 
do," — replied  InsarofF,  with  a  calm  smile. 

There  was  something  about  that  smile  which 
did  not  admit  of  insistence:  BersenefF  did  not 
add  a  word.  After  dinner,  he  proposed  to  In- 
saroff  that  he  should  take  him  to  the  Stakhoff  s ; 
but  the  latter  replied  that  he  intended  to  de- 
vote the  entire  evening  to  writing  to  his  Bul- 
garian correspondents,  and  therefore  begged  him 
to  defer  the  visit  to  the  Stakhoffs  until  another 
day.  BersenefF  was  already  acquainted  with  the 
inflexibility  of  InsarofF's  will,  but  only  now,  when 
he  found  himself  under  the  same  roof  with  him, 
was  he  definitively  able  to  convince  himself  of  the 
fact  that  InsaroiF  never  changed  any  of  his  de- 
cisions, just  as  he  never  put  off  the  fulfilment  of 
a  promise  he  had  once  given.  This  more  than 
German  punctiliousness  seemed,  at  first,  brutal, 
and  even  slightly  ridiculous,  to  BersenefF,  a  radi- 
cally Russian  man ;  but  he  speedily  became  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  ended  by  thinking  it,  if  not 
worthy  of  respect,  at  least  extremely  convenient. 

On  the  day  after  his  removal,  InsarofF  rose  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  explored  nearly  the 
whole  of  Kuntzovo,  bathed  in  the  river,  drank 
a  glass  of  cold  milk,  and  set  to  work ;  and  he  had 
not  a  little  work  on  hand :  he  was  studying  Rus- 
sian history,  and  law,  and  political  economy,  and 
was  translating  Bulgarian  ballads  and  chronicles, 
collecting  materials  concerning  the  Eastern  Ques- 

84 


ON  THE  EVE 

tion,  compiling  a  Russian  grammar  for  the  Bul- 
garians, and  a  Bulgarian  grammar  for  the  Rus- 
sians. BersenefF  dropped  into  his  room,  and 
talked  to  him  about  Feuerbach.  Insaroff  listened 
to  him  attentively,  and  replied  rarely,  but  practi- 
cally; from  his  replies  it  was  obvious  that  he  was 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  him  to  occupy  his  mind  with  Feuer- 
bach, or  whether  he  could  dispense  with  him. 
BersenefF  then  turned  the  conversation  on  his 
work,  and  asked  Insaroff  to  show  him  some  of  it. 
Insaroff  read  to  him  his  translation  of  two  or 
three  Bulgarian  ballads,  and  expressed  a  desire 
to  know  his  opinion.  BersenefF  thought  the 
translation  accurate,  but  not  sufficiently  viva- 
cious. Insaroff  took  his  remark  under  consider- 
ation. From  the  ballads,  BersenefF  passed  to  the 
contemporary  situation  of  Bulgaria,  and  here, 
for  the  first  time,  he  observed  what  Insaroff 
underwent  at  the  mere  mention  of  his  native 
land:  it  was  not  that  his  face  flushed  hotly,  or 
that  his  voice  was  raised— no!  but  his  whole 
being  seemed  to  gather  strength  and  strain 
onward,  the  outlines  of  his  lips  became  more 
clearly  and  more  pitilessly  defined,  and  in  the 
depths  of  his  eyes  some  sort  of  a  dull,  un- 
quenchable fire  kindled.  Insaroff  was  not  fond 
of  dilating  upon  his  own  trip  to  his  native 
land,  but  about  Bulgaria  in  general  he  talked 
willingly  with  every  one ;  he  talked,  without  haste, 

85 


ON  THE  EVE 

about  the  Turks,  about  their  oppressions,  about 
the  woes  and  calamities  of  his  fellow-country- 
men, about  their  hopes ;  the  concentrated  deliber- 
ation of  a  sole  and  long-existing  passion  was  au- 
dible in  his  every  word. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  Turkish  Aga  paid  his  debt 
to  him  for  the  death  of  his  mother  and  father," 
— BersenefF  was  thinking  in  the  meantime. 

Before  Insaroff  had  ceased  speaking,  the  door 
opened,  and  Shiibin  made  his  appearance  on  the 
threshold. 

He  entered  the  room  in  a  rather  too  free-and- 
easy,  good-natured  way;  Berseneff,  who  knew 
him  well,  immediately  comprehended  that  some- 
thing had  stirred  him  up. 

"  I  will  introduce  myself  without  ceremony," 
— ^he  began,  with  a  bright  and  frank  expression 
of  countenance: — "my  name  is  Shiibin;  I  am  a 
friend  of  this  young  man  here."  (He  pointed  at 
BersenefF.)  "You  are  Mr.  InsarofF,  I  think, 
are  you  not? " 

"  I  am  InsarofF." 

"  Then  give  me  your  hand,  and  let  us  make  ac- 
quaintance. I  do  not  know  whether  BersenefF 
has  talked  to  you  about  me,  but  he  has  talked  to 
me  about  you.  You  have  taken  up  your  abode 
here?  Capital!  Don't  be  angry  with  me  for  star- 
ing intently  at  you.  I  am  a  sculptor  by  profes- 
sion, and  I  foresee  that  before  long  I  shall  ask 
your  permission  to  model  your  head." 

86 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  My  head  is  at  your  service," — said  InsarofF. 

"  What  are  we  doing  to-day,  hey?  " — said  Shii- 
bin,  suddenly  seating  himself  on  a  low  stool, 
with  both  arms  propped  upon  his  widely- 
parted  knees. — "  Andrei  Petrovitch,  has  Your 
Well-born  any  plan  for  the  present  day?  The 
weather  is  glorious;  it  is  so  redolent  of  hay 
and  dry  strawberries  ....  that  it  is  as  though 
one  were  drinking  herb  tea.  We  ought  to 
get  up  some  sort  of  jollification.  Let 's  show 
the  new  resident  of  Kiintzovo  all  its  numer- 
ous beauties.  ("He  is  stirred  up,"  BersenefF 
continued  to  think  to  himself.)  "  Come,  why 
art  thou  silent,  my  friend  Horatio?  Open  thy 
wise  lips.  Shall  we  get  up  some  sort  of  an  affair, 
or  not? " 

"I  don't  know," — remarked  BersenefF: — 
"  that 's  as  InsarofF  says.  I  think  he  is  preparing 
to  work." 

Shiibin  wheeled  round  on  his  stool. 

"  Do  you  want  to  work? " — he  asked,  some- 
what through  his  nose. 

"  No," — replied  InsarofF;—"  I  can  devote  to- 
day to  a  stroll." 

"Ah!"— ejaculated  Shiibin.— "  Well,  that's 
fine.  Come  along,  my  friend  Andrei  Petrovitch, 
cover  your  wise  head  with  a  hat,  and  let  us  walk 
straight  ahead,  whithersoever  our  eyes  gaze.  Our 
eyes  are  young — they  see  far.  I  know  of  a  very 
bad  little  eating-house,  where  they  will  give  us  a 

87 


ON  THE  EVE 

very  nasty  little  dinner;  and  we  shall  be  very 
jolly.    Come  along." 

Half  an  hour  later,  all  three  of  them  were 
strolling  along  the  shore  of  the  Moscow  River. 
It  appeared  that  InsarofF  had  a  decidedly  queer, 
long-eared  cap,  over  which  Shubin  went  into  not 
entirely  natural  ecstasies.  InsarofF  strode  along 
at  a  leisurely  pace,  gazed  about  him,  breathed  the 
air,  talked  and  smiled  composedly:  but  he  had 
consecrated  that  day  to  pleasure,  and  was  enjoy- 
ing himself  to  the  full. 

"  That 's  the  way  good  little  boys  walk  on  Sun- 
days," whispered  Shubin  in  BersenefF's  ear. 
Shubin  himself  cut  up  all  sorts  of  capers,  ran 
on  ahead,  assumed  the  poses  of  famous  statues, 
turned  somersaults  on  the  grass ;  InsaroiF's  com- 
posure did  not  exactly  irritate  him,  but  it  made 
him  play  antics.  "  What  makes  thee  grimace  so, 
Frenchman !  "  BersenefF  remarked  to  him  a 
couple  of  times.  "  Yes,  I  am  a  Frenchman, — 
half  a  Frenchman," — Shubin  retorted;  "but  do 
thou  keep  the  mean  between  jest  and  seriousness, 
as  a  certain  waiter  used  to  say  to  me."  The  young 
men  turned  away  from  the  river,  and  walked 
along  a  deep,  narrow  gully,  between  two  walls  of 
tall,  golden  rye;  a  bluish  shadow  fell  upon  them 
from  one  of  these  walls;  the  radiant  sun  seemed 
to  glide  across  the  crests  of  the  ears;  the  larks 
were  singing,  the  quails  were  calling ;  everywhere 

88 


ON  THE  EVE 

about  the  grass  grew  green;  a  warm  breeze  flut- 
tered and  raised  its  blades,  and  rocked  the  heads 
of  the  flowers.  After  prolonged  ramblings, 
rests,  and  chat — (Shiibin  even  tried  to  play  at 
leap-frog  with  a  toothless,  wretched  passing  peas- 
ant, who  laughed  incessantly,  whatever  the  gen- 
tlemen did  to  him) — the  young  men  arrived  at 
the  "  very  bad  little  "  eating-house.  The  servant 
almost  upset  each  one  of  them,  and  actually  did 
feed  them  with  a  very  nasty  dinner,  with  some 
sort  of  wine  from  beyond  the  Balkans,  all  which, 
however,  did  not  prevent  their  heartily  enjoying 
themselves,  as  Shiibin  had  predicted  that  they 
would;  he  himself  was  the  most  noisily  merry — 
and  the  least  merry  of  them  all.  He  drank  the 
health  of  the  incomprehensible  but  great  Vene- 
lin,  the  health  of  the  Bulgarian  King  Krum, 
Khrum,  or  Khrom,  who  lived  about  the  time  of 
Adam. 

"  In  the  ninth  century," — Insarofl"  corrected 
him. 

"  In  the  ninth  century?  " — exclaimed  Shiibin. 
—"Oh,  what  bliss!" 

Berseneff*  remarked  that,  in  the  midst  of  all 
his  antics,  sallies,  and  jests,  Shiibin  seemed  to  be 
constantly  examining  Insarofl*,— kept  sounding 
him,  as  it  were,— and  was  the  prey  of  inward  agi- 
tation,— while  Insarofl*  remained  calm  and  clear 
as  before. 

89 


ON  THE  EVE 

At  last  they  returned  home,  changed  their 
clothes,  and,  in  order  not  to  spoil  the  programme 
which  they  had  adopted  in  the  morning,  they  de- 
cided to  betake  themselves  that  same  evening  to 
the  StakhofFs.  Shubin  ran  on  ahead  to  give  no- 
tice of  their  coming. 


90 


XII 

"  The  Hero  Insaroff  will  deign  to  come  hither 
in  a  moment!  "  he  exclaimed  trimnphantly,  as  he 
entered  the  drawing-room  of  the  Stakhoffs, 
where,  at  that  moment,  there  was  no  one  but 
Elena  and  Zoya. 

"  Wer?  '"—asked  Zoya  in  German.  When 
taken  by  surprise,  she  always  expressed  herself 
in  her  native  tongue.  Elena  drew  herself  up. 
Shubin  glanced  at  her  with  a  playful  smile  on 
his  lips.    She  was  vexed,  but  said  nothing. 

"You  have  heard," — he  repeated: — "Mr. 
InsaroiF  is  coming  hither." 

"  I  have  heard," — she  replied, — "  and  I  have 
heard  what  you  called  him.  I  am  amazed  at  you, 
I  really  am.  Mr.  InsaroiF  has  not  yet  set  his  foot 
here,  and  you  already  consider  it  necessary  to 
make  wry  faces." 

Shubin  suddenly  relaxed. 

"  You  are  right,  you  are  always  right,  Elena 
Nikolaevna: — but  I  did  n't  mean  it,  God  is  my 
witness  that  I  did  not.  We  have  been  strolling 
together  all  day,  and  he  is  an  excellent  man,  I 
assure  you." 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  about  that," — said  Elena, 
rising  from  her  seat. 

91 


ON  THE  EVE 


Is  Mr.  Insaroff  young?  " — inquired  Zoya. 

He  is  one  hundred  and  forty-four  years  old," 
answered  Shiibin,  with  vexation. 

The  page  announced  the  arrival  of  the  two 
friends.  BersenefF  introduced  InsarofF.  Elena 
asked  them  to  be  seated,  and  sat  down  herself, 
but  Zoya  went  away  up-stairs:  Anna  Vasilievna 
must  be  informed.  A  conversation  began, — ra- 
ther insignificant,  like  all  first  conversations. 
Shiibin  kept  silent  watch  from  a  corner,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  watch.  In  Elena  he  ob- 
served the  traces  of  repressed  vexation  with  him- 
self, Shiibin, — and  that  was  all.  He  glanced  at 
BersenefF  and  at  InsarofF,  and,  as  a  sculptor, 
he  compared  their  faces.  Neither  of  them  was 
handsome,  he  thought:  the  Bulgarian  had  a  face 
full  of  character,  a  sculpturesque  face;  it  was 
well  illuminated  now;  the  Great  Russian  de- 
mands rather  painting:  he  has  no  lines,  but  he 
has  physiognomy.  But,  probably,  one  might 
fall  in  love  with  the  latter  as  well  as  with  the 
former.  She  was  not  in  love  yet,  but  she  would 
fall  in  love  with  BersenefF,  he  decided  in  his 
own  mind. — Anna  Vasilievna  made  her  appear- 
ance in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  conversation 
took  a  turn  completely  of  the  summer-villa 
order, — precisely  that,  the  villa  order,  not  the 
country  order.  It  was  a  very  varied  conversation 
in  the  matter  of  the  abundance  of  the  subjects 
discussed;   but  brief,   tiresome   pauses  broke   it 

92 


ON  THE  EVE 

off  every  three  minutes.  In  one  of  these  pauses, 
Anna  Vasilievna  turned  to  Zoya.  Shubin  under- 
stood her  mute  hint,  and  made  a  wry  face,  but 
Zoya  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  played  and 
sang  all  her  little  pieces.  Uvar  Ivanovitch 
showed  himself  for  a  moment  in  the  dooi'way, 
but  wiggled  his  fingers  and  retreated.  Then 
tea  was  served,  and  the  whole  party  went  into  the 
garden.  .  .  It  had  grown  dark  out  of  doors,  and 
the  guests  went  away. 

InsarofF  had  really  made  less  of  an  impression 
on  Elena  than  she  herself  had  expected;  or,  to 
speak  more  accurately,  his  straightforwardness 
and  unconstrainedness  had  pleased  her, — and  his 
face  had  pleased  her.  But  InsarofF's  whole 
being,  composedly  firm,  and  simple  in  an  every- 
day way,  somehow  did  not  accord  with  the  im- 
age which  she  had  formed  in  her  own  mind  from 
Berseneff's  accounts.  Elena,  without  herself 
suspecting  it,  had  expected  something  "  more 
fatal."  But,  thought  she,  he  said  very  little  to- 
day; I  myself  am  to  blame:  I  did  not  question 
him,  I  will  wait  until  the  next  time  ....  but 
his  eyes  are  expressive,  honest  eyes.  She  felt 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  bow  down  before  him 
and  give  him  a  friendly  hand,  and  she  was  sur- 
prised: not  thus  had  she  pictured  to  herself  peo- 
ple, like  Insaroff ,  who  were  "  heroes."  This  last 
word  reminded  her  of  Shubin,  and  she  flushed 
up  and  waxed  indignant,  as  she  lay  in  her  bed. 

93 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  How  do  you  like  your  new  acquaintances? " 
BersenefF  asked  Insaroff  on  their  way  home. 

"  I  hke  them  very  much," — repHed  Insaroff, 
— "  especially  the  daughter.  She  must  be  a 
splendid  girl.  She  gets  agitated,  but  in  her  case 
it  must  be  a  good  agitation." 

"  We  must  go  to  them  as  often  as  we  can," — 
remarked  Berseneff. 

"  Yes,  we  must," — said  Insaroff — and  said 
nothing  more  the  whole  way  home.  He  immedi- 
ately locked  himself  up  in  his  room,  but  his  can- 
dle burned  until  long  after  midnight. 

Before  Berseneff  had  succeeded  in  reading  a 
page  of  Raumer,  a  handful  of  fine  gravel  was 
flung  and  rattled  against  the  panes  of  his  win- 
dow. He  involuntarily  started,  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  espied  Shiibin,  pale  as  a  sheet. 

"What  a  turbulent  fellow  thou  art!  thou 
night-moth! "  began  Berseneff. 

"  Hush!  "  Shiibin  interrupted  him: — "  I  have 
come  to  thee  by  stealth,  as  Max  did  to  Agatha. 
It  is  imperatively  necessary  that  I  should  say  a 
few  words  to  thee  in  private." 

"  Then  come  into  the  room." 

*'  No,  that  is  unnecessary," — replied  Shubin, 
leaning  his  elbows  on  the  window-sill: — "it  's 
jollier  this  way,  more  like  Spain.  In  the  first 
place,  I  congratulate  thee;  thy  stocks  have  gone 
up.  Thy  vaunted,  remarkable  man  has  been 
a  dead  failure.     I  can  vouch  for  that.     And, 


ON  THE  EVE 

in  order  to  demonstrate  to  thee  my  disinterested- 
ness, listen :  here  's  a  formal  inventory  of  Mr.  In- 
saroif :  Talents,  none;  poetry,  has  n't  any;  capa- 
city for  work,  an  immense  amount;  memory,  a 
great  deal;  mind,  neither  varied  nor  profound, 
but  healthy  and  lively,  aridity  and  power,  and 
even  a  gift  of  language,  when  the  subject  is  his 
— between  ourselves  be  it  said — most  deadly 
tiresome  Bulgaria.  What?  thou  wilt  say,  I  am 
unjust?  One  more  remark:  thou  wilt  never  be 
on  terms  of  calling  him  thou^  and  no  one  ever  has 
called  him  thou;  I,  as  an  artist,  am  repulsive  to 
him,  a  fact  of  which  I  am  proud.  He  's  dry,  dry, 
and  he  can  grind  all  of  you  to  powder.  He  is 
bound  up  with  his  land — not  like  our  empty  ves- 
sels, who  fawn  on  the  people ;  as  much  as  to  say : 
'  Flow  into  us,  thou  living  water ! '  On  the  other 
hand,  his  problem  is  easier,  more  readily  under- 
stood :  all  it  amounts  to  is,  to  turn  out  the  Turks, 
and  a  great  matter  that  is!  But  all  these  quali- 
ties, thank  God,  do  not  please  women.  There's 
no  fascination,  charme;  nothing  of  that  which 
thou  and  I  possess." 

"  Why  dost  thou  implicate  me  in  this?  " — mut- 
tered Berseneff. — "  And  thou  art  not  right  as 
to  the  rest:  thou  art  not  in  the  least  repulsive  to 
him,  and  he  is  on  the  footing  of  thou  with  his 
fellow-countrymen,  ....  that  I  know." 

"  That  is  another  matter!  For  them  he  is  a 
hero;   but   I  must  say  that  my  conception   of 

95 


ON  THE  EVE 

heroes  is  different:  a  hero  ought  not  to  know 
how  to  talk — a  hero  bellows  like  a  bull;  on  the 
other  hand,  when  he  moves  his  horns  the  walls 
tumble  down.  And  he  himself  ought  not  to 
know  why  he  moves,  yet  he  does  move.  How- 
ever, perhaps  heroes  of  another  calibre  are  re- 
quired in  our  times." 

"  Why  does  InsaroiF  occupy  thy  mind  so 
much?" — inquired  Berseneff. — "Is  it  possible 
that  thou  hast  run  hither  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  describing  his  character  to  me?  " 

"  I  came  hither," — began  Shiibin, — "  because 
I  was  very  sad  at  home." 

"Not  really  I  Dost  not  thou  wish  to  weep 
agam  f 

"Laugh  away!  I  came  hither  because  I  am 
ready  to  bite  my  own  elbows,  because  despair  is 
gnawing  rtie — vexation,  jealousy " 

"  Jealousy! — of  whom?  " 

"  Of  thee,  of  him,  of  everybody.  I  am  tor- 
mented by  the  thought  that  if  I  had  understood 
her  earher,  if  I  had  set  about  the  business  intelli- 
gently ....  But  what  's  the  use  of  talking! 
It  will  end  in  my  constantly  laughing,  fooling, 
playing  antics,  as  she  says,  and  then  I  shall  take 
and  strangle  myself." 

"  Well,  as  for  strangling  thyself,  thou  wilt 
not," — remarked  Berseneff. 

"  On  such  a  night,  of  course  not;  but  only  let 
us  live  until  the  autumn.  On  such  a  night  as  this 

96 


ON  THE  EVE 

people  die  also,  but  it  is  from  happiness.  Akh, 
happiness!  Every  shadow  stretched  out  athwart 
the  road  from  the  trees  seems  to  be  whispering, 
now:  '  I  know  where  happiness  is.  .  .  .  Wilt 
thou  have  me  tell  thee  ? '  I  would  invite  thee  to 
a  stroll,  but  thou  art  now  under  the  influence 
of  prose.  Sleep,  and  mayest  thou  dream  of 
mathematical  figures!  But  my  soul  is  bursting. 
You,  gentlemen,  behold  a  man  laugh,  and  that 
signifies,  according  to  you,  that  he  is  at  ease ;  you 
can  prove  to  him  that  he  is  contradicting  himself, 
which  means  that  he  is  not  suffering.  .  .  Be- 
gone with  you! " 

Shiibin  swiftly  withdrew  from  the  window. 
"  Annushka!  "  BersenefF  felt  like  shouting  after 
him,  but  he  restrained  himself;  in  fact,  Shubin 
looked  unlike  his  natural  self.  A  couple  of  min- 
utes later,  Berseneff  even  fancied  that  he  heard 
sobs ;  he  rose,  and  opened  the  window ;  everything 
was  quiet,  only  somewhere,  in  the  distance,  some 
one — probably  a  passing  peasant— struck  up 
"  The  Mozdok  Steppe." 


97 


XIII 

In  the  course  of  the  first  two  weeks  after  In- 
sarofF's  removal  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Kiin- 
tzovo,  he  did  not  visit  the  StakliofFs  more  than 
four  or  five  times ;  Berseneff  went  to  them  every 
other  day.  Elena  was  always  glad  to  see  him, 
a  lively  and  interesting  conversation  always 
arose  between  him  and  her,  but,  nevertheless,  he 
frequently  returned  home  with  a  melancholy 
countenance.  Shubin  scarcely  showed  himself; 
he  busied  himself  with  his  art,  with  feverish  ac- 
tivity: he  either  sat  behind  locked  doors  in  his 
chamber  and  rushed  thence  in  his  blouse,  all 
smeared  with  clay,  or  spent  days  in  Moscow, 
where  he  had  a  studio,  whither  came  to  him 
models  and  Italian  model-makers,  his  friends 
and  teachers.  Elena  never  once  talked  with  In- 
sarofF  as  she  would  have  liked  to  talk;  in  his 
absence,  she  prepared  herself  to  question  him 
about  many  things,  but  when  he  came  she  felt 
ashamed  of  her  preparations.  InsarofF's  very 
composure  daunted  her :  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
had  no  right  to  make  him  express  his  opinions, 
and  she  resolved  to  wait;  withal  she  felt  that 
with  every  visit  of  his,  however  insignificant  were 

98 


ON  THE  EVE 

the  words  which  were  exchanged  between  them, 
he  attracted  her  more  and  more :  but  she  had  not 
happened  to  be  left  alone  with  him, — and  in 
order  to  get  close  to  a  person  it  is  necessary  to 
have  at  least  one  private  conversation  with  him. 
She  talked  a  great  deal  about  him  to  BersenefF. 
BersenefF  understood  that  Elena's  imagination 
had  been  struck  by  InsarofF,  and  rejoiced  that 
his  friend  had  not  proved  a  failure,  as  Shubin 
had  asserted;  he  narrated  to  her,  with  fervour, 
everything  he  knew  about  him,  down  to  the  very 
smallest  details  (we  frequently,  when  we  wish 
to  please  a  person  ourselves,  extol  our  friends  in 
conversation  with  him,  almost  never  suspecting, 
moreover,  that  by  that  very  fact  we  extol  our- 
selves), and  only  now  and  then,  when  Elena's 
pale  cheeks  flushed  slightly,  and  her  eyes  began 
to  beam  and  open  widely,  did  that  noxious  sad- 
ness, which  he  had  already  experienced,  grip  his 
heart. 

One  day  Berseneff  went  to  the  Stakhoffs  at 
eleven  in  the  morning,  an  unusual  hour  for  him. 
Elena  came  to  the  drawing-room  to  receive  him. 

"  Just  imagine," — he  began  with  a  forced 
smile: — "our  InsarofF  has  disappeared." 

"  Disappeared?  "  said  Elena. 

"  Yes,  disappeared.  Day  before  yesterday,  in 
the  evening,  he  went  off  somewhere,  and  since 
then  there  has  been  no  sign  of  him." 

*'  Did  not  he  tell  you  where  he  was  going?  " 

99 


ON  THE  EVE 


<<   "1VT~    >' 


No.' 

Elena  sank  down  on  a  chair. 

"  Probably  he  went  to  Moscow," — she  re- 
marked, striving  to  appear  indifferent,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  surprised  that  she  was  striving 
to  appear  indifferent. 

"  I  do  not  think  so," — returned  BersenefF. — 
"  He  did  not  go  away  alone." 

"  With  whom,  then?  " 

*'  Two  men,  who  must  have  been  fellow-coun- 
trymen of  his,  came  to  him  the  day  before  yes- 
terday." 

"  Bulgarians?    Why  do  you  think  that?  " 

"  Because,  so  far  as  I  was  able  to  overhear 
them,  they  were  talking  with  him  in  a  language 
which  was  unknown  to  me,  yet  was  Slavonic. 
....  Now  you,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  have  always 
thought  that  there  was  very  little  that  was  mys- 
terious about  Insaroff;  what  could  be  more  mys- 
terious than  this  visit?  Imagine:  they  entered 
his  room— and  began  to  shout  and  quarrel,  and 
so  savagely,  so  viciously.  .  .  And  he  shouted 
also." 

"He  also?" 

"  He  also.  He  shouted  at  them.  They  seemed 
to  be  complaining  of  each  other.  And  if  you 
could  but  have  seen  those  visitors!  Swarthy,  dull 
faces,  with  broad  cheek-bones  and  aquiline  noses, 
each  of  them  over  forty  years  of  age,  badly 
dressed,  dusty,  sweaty,  with  the  aspect  of  ar- 

100 


ON  THE  EVE 

tisans — neither  artisans  nor  gentlemen.  .  .  God 
knows  what  sort  of  men." 

"  And  he  went  away  with  them?  " 

"  Yes.  He  fed  them,  and  went  off  with  them. 
My  landlady  said  that,  between  the  two,  they 
devoured  a  huge  pot  of  buckwheat  groats.  She 
says  they  vied  with  each  other  in  gulping  it  down, 
just  like  wolves." 

Elena  gave  a  faint  laugh. 

"  You  will  see," — she  said: — "  all  this  will  turn 
out  in  some  very  prosaic  manner." 

"  God  grant  it !  Only,  you  are  wrong  to  use 
that  word.  There  is  nothing  prosaic  about  In- 
saroff,  although  Shiibin  declares  .  .  .  ." 

"Shiibin!" — interrupted  Elena,  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders.—"  But  admit  that  those  two  gen- 
tlemen who  gulped  down  the  groats " 

"  Themistocles  also  ate  on  the  eve  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Salamis,"— remarked  Berseneff,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Exactly  so:  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  bat- 
tle took  place  on  the  following  day." 

"  But  you  must  let  me  know  when  he  returns," 
— added  Elena,  and  tried  to  change  the  conver- 
sation,— but  the  conversation  languished.  Zoya 
made  her  appearance,  and  began  to  walk  about 
the  room  on  tiptoe,  thereby  giving  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  Anna  Vasilievna  had  not  yet  waked 
up. 

Berseneff  took  his  departure. 

101 


ON  THE  EVE 

On  that  same  day,  in  the  evening,  a  note  was 
brought  from  him  to  Elena.  "  He  has  returned," 
— he  wrote  to  her: — "  sunburned,  and  dusty  to 
the  very  eyebrows ;  but  why  and  whither  he  went, 
I  do  not  know;  cannot  you  find  out?  " 

"  '  Cannot  you  find  out! '  "—whispered  Elena. 
— "  Does  he  talk  with  me?  " 


102 


XIV 

About  two  o'clock  on  the  following  day,  Elena 
was  standing  in  the  garden,  in  front  of  a  small 
kennel,  where  she  was  rearing  two  watch-dog 
pups.  (The  gardener  had  found  them  aban- 
doned under  the  hedge,  and  had  brought  them 
to  his  young  mistress,  concerning  whom  the  laun- 
dresses had  told  him  that  she  had  compassion  on 
all  wild  beasts  and  animals.)  She  glanced  into 
the  kennel,  convinced  herself  that  the  puppies 
were  alive  and  well  and  that  they  had  been  lit- 
tered down  with  fresh  straw,  turned  around,  and 
almost  shrieked  aloud:  directly  in  front  of  her, 
alone,  InsarofF  was  walking  up  the  alley. 

"  Good  morning," — he  said,  approaching  her, 
and  removing  his  cap.  She  noticed  that  he  had, 
in  fact,  grown  very  sunburned  during  the  last 
three  days. — "  I  wanted  to  come  hither  with 
Andrei  Petrovitch,  but  he  lingered  for  some  rea- 
son or  other;  so  I  set  out  without  him.  There 
was  no  one  at  your  house, — everybody  is  asleep 
or  out  walking, — so  I  came  hither." 

"  You  seem  to  be  apologising," — replied 
Elena. — "  That  is  entirely  unnecessary.    We  are 

103 


ON  THE  EVE 

all  very  glad  to  see  you.  .  .  .  Let  us  sit  down 
on  that  bench  yonder,  in  the  shade." 

She  seated  herself.  InsarofF  sat  down  beside 
her. 

"  You  have  not  been  at  home  of  late,  I  be- 
lieve? " — she  began. 

"No," — he  replied:  "  I  went  away.  .  .  .  Did 
Andrei  Petrovitch  tell  you?  " 

Insaroff  glanced  at  her,  smiled,  and  began  to 
play  with  his  cap.  When  he  smiled,  he  winked 
his  eyes  swiftly  and  thrust  out  his  lips,  which  im- 
parted to  him  a  very  good-natured  aspect. 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch,  probably,  told  you  also 
that  I  had  gone  off  with  some  .  .  .  horrible  peo- 
ple,"— he  went  on,  continuing  to  smile. 

Elena  was  somewhat  disconcerted,  but  imme- 
diately felt  that  it  was  necessary  always  to  speak 
the  truth  to  InsarofF. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  decision. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  me?  " — he  suddenly 
asked  her. 

Elena  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  I  thought,"— she  said  .  ..."  I  thought 
that  you  always  know  what  you  are  doing,  and 
that  you  are  not  capable  of  doing  anything  bad." 

"  Well,  I  thank  you  for  that.  See  here, 
Elena  Nikolaevna," — he  began,  moving  closer 
to  her,  in  a  confidential  sort  of  way: — "there  is 
only  a  small  family  of  us  here;  among  us  there 
are  people  who  are  not  highly  educated;  but  all 

104 


ON  THE  EVE 

are  firmly  devoted  to  the  general  cause.  Un- 
happily, quarrels  cannot  be  avoided,  and  all 
know  me,  trust  me;  so  they  called  on  me  to  ar- 
bitrate in  a  quarrel.    I  went." 

"  Was  it  far  from  here?  " 

"  I  went  more  than  sixty  versts,  to  the  Troit- 
zky  suburb.^  There,  at  the  monastery,  there  are 
also  some  of  our  people.  At  all  events,  I  did 
not  have  my  trouble  for  nothing :  I  arranged  the 
matter." 

"  And  did  you  find  it  difficult?  " 

"  Yes.  One  persisted  in  being  stubborn.  He 
would  not  give  up  the  money." 

"What?    Was  the  quarrel  about  money?" 

"  Yes ;  and  not  a  large  amount,  either.  But 
what  did  you  suppose  it  was?  " 

"  And  for  such  a  trifle  you  travelled  sixty 
versts — j^ou  wasted  three  days?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  trifle,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  when 
one's  fellow-countrymen  are  concerned.  To  re- 
fuse in  such  a  case,  would  be  a  sin.  Here,  I  per- 
ceive that  you  do  not  refuse  your  aid  even  to 
puppies,  and  for  that  I  laud  you.  And  as  for 
my  having  wasted  time,  that  is  of  no  consequence. 
I  will  make  it  up  later  on.  Our  time  does  not 
belong  to  us." 

"To  whom,  then?" 

"  To  every  one  who  needs  us.    I  have  told  you 

*  The  Trinity — Sergy^i  Monastery,  forty  miles  from 
Moscow. — Teianslator. 

105 


ON  THE  EVE 

all  this  without  circumlocution,  because  I  value 
your  opinion.  I  can  imagine  how  Andrei  Petro- 
vitch  amazed  you! " 

"  You  value  my  opinion," — said  Elena  in  a 
low  tone: — "  why?  " 

Again  InsarofF  smiled. 

"  Because  you  are  a  nice  young  lady,  not  an 
aristocrat  .  .  .  that  's  all." 

A  brief  silence  ensued. 

"Dmitry  Nikanorovitch,"— said  Elena:  "do 
you  know  that  this  is  the  first  time  you  have 
been  so  frank  with  me?  " 

"  How  so?  It  strikes  me,  that  I  have  always 
told  you  everything  I  thought." 

"  No;  this  is  the  first  time,  and  I  am  very  glad 
of  it, — and  I,  also,  wish  to  be  frank  with  you. 
May  I?" 

InsarofF  laughed  and  said: 

"  You  may." 

"  I  warn  you,  that  I  am  very  curious." 

"  Never  mind,  speak  on." 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch  has  told  me  a  great  deal 
about  your  life,  about  your  youth.  I  know  one 
circumstance,  one  frightful  circumstance.  .  .  . 
I  know  that,  afterward,  you  went  home  to  your 
fatherland.  .  .  .  Do  not  answer  me,  for  God's 
sake,  if  my  question  appears  to  you  to  be  indis- 
creet,— but  one  thought  tortures  me.  .  .  .  Tell 
me,  did  you  meet  that  man " 

Elena's  breath  failed  her.     Her  daring  both 

106 


ON  THE  EVE 

mortified  and  terrified  her.  Insaroif  gazed  in- 
tently at  her,  narrowing  his  eyes  slightly,  and 
touching  his  chin  with  his  fingers. 

"  Elena  Nikolaevna," — he  began,  at  last,  and 
his  voice  was  softer  than  usual,  which  almost 
frightened  Elena: — "  I  understand  what  man 
you  just  referred  to.  No,  I  did  not  meet  him, 
and  God  be  thanked  for  that!  I  did  not  seek 
him.  I  did  not  seek  him  because  I  did  not  con- 
sider that  I  had  a  right  to  kill  him, — I  would 
have  killed  him  quite  calmly,— but  it  was  not 
a  case  for  private  vengeance,  when  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  national,  general  vengeance  ....  or 
no,  that  is  not  the  proper  word  .  .  .  when  it 
is  a  question  of  the  emancipation  of  a  nation. 
The  one  would  have  interfered  with  the  other. 
In  its  own  good  time,  that  will  not  escape,  either. 
....  That  will  not  escape,  either,"— he  re- 
peated— and  shook  his  head. 

Elena  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 

"  You  love  your  native  land  greatly?  "  she  ar- 
ticulated timidly. 

"  That  is  not  settled,  as  yet," — he  replied. — 
"  You  see,  when  some  one  of  us  shall  die  for  her, 
then  it  may  be  said  that  he  loved  her." 

"  So  that,  if  you  should  be  deprived  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  returning  to  Bulgaria," — went  on 
Elena: — "you  would  be  very  unhappy  in  Rus- 
sia?" 

Insaroff  dropped  his  eyes. 

107 


(( 
(( 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  not  survive 
that," — he  said. 

"Tell  me," — began  Elena  again: — "is  the 
Bulgarian  language  difficult  to  learn? " 

"  Not  at  all.  A  Russian  ought  to  be  ashamed 
not  to  know  Bulgarian.  A  Russian  ought  to 
know  all  the  Slavonic  dialects.  Would  you  like 
to  have  me  bring  you  some  Bulgarian  books? 
You  will  see  how  easy  it  is.  What  ballads  we 
have !  As  good  as  the  Servian.  And,  stay,  I  will 
translate  one  of  them  for  you.  .  .  .  Do  you 
know  anything  at  all  about  our  history? " 
No,  I  know  nothing," — replied  Elena. 
Wait,  I  will  bring  you  a  book.  You  will  see 
the  principal  facts,  at  least,  in  it.  Now  listen 
to  the  ballad.  .  .  However,  I  had  better  bring 
you  a  written  translation.  I  am  convinced  that 
you  will  like  us.  If  you  only  knew  what  a  blessed 
land  is  ours!  Yet  they  trample  it  under  foot, 
they  torture  it," — he  added,  with  an  involuntary 
gesture  of  his  hands,  and  his  face  darkened: — 
"  they  have  taken  from  us  everything,  every- 
thing: our  churches,  our  rights,  our  lands;  the 
accursed  Turks  drive  us  like  a  flock,  they  cut 
our  throats " 

"Dmitry  Nikanorovitch ! "  exclaimed  Elena. 

He  paused. 

"  Forgive  me.  I  cannot  speak  of  it  with  in- 
difference. You  just  asked  me,  whether  I  loved 
my  native  land?     What  else  on  earth  can  one 

108 


ON  THE  EVE 

love?  What  alone  is  unchangeable,  what  is  above 
all  suspicion,  what  else  is  it  impossible  not  to 
believe  in,  except  God?  And  when  that  fa- 
therland needs  thee  ....  Observe:  the  hum- 
blest peasant  in  Bulgaria  and  I, — we  desire  one 
and  the  same  thing.  We  have  but  one  aim,  all 
of  us.  You  must  understand  what  confidence 
and  strength  that  gives!  " 

InsarofF  paused  for  a  moment,  and  again 
began  to  talk  about  Bulgaria.  Elena  listened 
to  him  with  devouring,  profound,  and  melan- 
choly attention.  When  he  had  finished,  she  asked 
him  once  more: 

"  So,  you  would  not  remain  in  Russia,  on  any 
terms? "... 

And  when  he  went  away,  she  gazed  long  after 
him.  He  had  become  for  her  a  different  man 
that  day.  The  man  to  whom  she  bade  farewell 
was  not  the  same  man  whom  she  had  greeted  two 
hours  before. 

From  that  day  forth,  he  began  to  come  more 
and  more  frequently,  and  Berseneff  came  more 
and  more  rarely.  Between  the  two  friends  a 
strange  something  had  established  itself  of  which 
both  were  plainly  conscious,  but  which  they  could 
not  name,  and  were  afraid  to  explain.  A  month 
passed  in  this  manner. 


109 


XV 

Anna  Vasilievna  was  fond  of  staying  at  home, 
as  the  reader  is  ah'eady  aware:  but  sometimes, 
quite  unexpectedly,  she  manifested  an  uncon- 
querable desire  for  something  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary, some  wonderful  partie  de  plaisir;  and  the 
more  difficult  was  this  partie  de  plaisir,  the  more 
preparations  and  preliminary  arrangements  did 
it  require,  the  more  excited  did  Anna  Vasilievna 
become,  the  more  agreeable  was  it  to  her.  If  that 
mood  descended  upon  her  in  the  winter,  she  or- 
dered that  two  or  three  adjoining  boxes  should 
be  engaged,  assembled  all  her  acquaintances,  and 
went  to  the  theatre,  or  even  to  a  masquerade;  in 
the  summer,  she  went  somewhere  out  of  town, 
the  farther  the  better.  On  the  following  day, 
she  complained  of  headache,  groaned,  and  did 
not  get  out  of  her  bed,  and  a  couple  of  months 
afterward,  the  thirst  for  the  "  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary "  was  again  kindled  within  her.  So  it  hap- 
pened now.  Some  one  referred,  in  her  presence, 
to  the  beauties  of  Tzaritzyno,^  and  Anna  Vasi- 

^  A  village  twelve  miles  from  Moscow,  with  an  unfinished  palace, 
begun  by  Katherine  II.,  and  a  park.  To  reach  it  from  Kiintzovo,  six 
miles  from  town),  involves  traversing  the  whole  breadth  of  Moscow. 
— Translator. 

110 


ON  THE  EVE 

lievna  suddenly  announced  that  she  intended  to 
go  to  Tzaritzyno  on  the  next  day  but  one.  The 
house  was  in  an  uproar ;  a  special  messenger  sped 
to  Moscow  for  Nikolai  Artemievitch ;  with  him 
also  hastened  the  butler  to  purchase  wine,  pasties, 
and  all  sorts  of  edibles;  Shubin  was  commanded 
to  engage  a  calash  and  postilion  (the  carriage 
alone  was  insufficient),  and  to  arrange  for  re- 
lays of  horses;  the  page  ran  twice  to  Berseneff 
and  InsarofF,  and  carried  them  two  notes  of  in- 
vitation, written  first  in  Russian,  then  in  French, 
by  Zoya;  Anna  Vasilievna  busied  herself  with 
the  travelling  toilets  of  the  young  ladies.  In 
the  meantime,  the  partie  de  plaisir  came  near 
being  upset:  Nikolai  Artemievitch  arrived  from 
Moscow  in  a  sour  and  ill-disposed,  rebellious 
frame  of  mind  (he  was  still  in  the  sulks  at 
Augustma  Christianovna)  ;  and  on  learning  what 
was  on  hand,  he  announced,  with  decision,  that 
he  would  not  go;— that  to  rush  from  Kiint- 
zovo  to  Moscow,  and  from  Moscow  to  Tzarit- 
zyno, and  from  Tzaritzyno  to  Moscow,  and 
from  Moscow  back  to  Kiintzovo,  was  folly ;  and, 
in  short,  he  added,  "  Let  it  first  be  proved  to 
me,  that  any  one  spot  on  the  earth's  surface  can 
be  any  jollier  than  any  other  spot,  then  I  will 
go."  Of  course,  no  one  could  prove  this  to  him, 
and  Anna  Vasilievna,  in  the  absence  of  any  se- 
date cavalier,  was  on  the  point  of  renouncing 
her  partie  de  plaisir^,  when  she  remembered  Uvar 

111 


ON  THE  EVE 

Ivanovitch,  and  in  her  distress  she  sent  to  his 
room  for  him,  saying:  "A  drowning  man 
clutches  at  a  straw."  They  waked  him  up;  he 
went  down-stairs,  listened  in  silence  to  Anna 
Vasilievna's  proposal,  twiddled  his  fingers,  and, 
to  the  general  surprise,  consented.  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna  kissed  him  on  the  cheek,  and  called  him  a 
darling;  Nikolai  Artemievitch  smiled  scornfully, 
and  said,  "  Quelle  hourde! "  (he  was  fond,  on  oc- 
casion, of  using  "chic  "  French  words) ;  and,  on 
the  following  morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  the  car- 
riage and  the  calash,  loaded  to  the  brim,  rolled 
out  of  the  yard  of  the  StakhoiFs'  villa.  In  the 
carriage  sat  the  ladies,  the  maid,  and  BersenefF; 
InsarofF  installed  himself  on  the  box ;  and  in  the 
calash  were  Uvar  Ivanovitch  and  Shiibin.  Uvar 
Ivanovitch  himself,  by  a  movement  of  his  fingers, 
had  summoned  Shiibin  to  him;  he  knew  that  the 
latter  would  tease  him  the  whole  way,  but  be- 
tween the  "  black  earth  force  "  and  the  young 
artist  there  existed  a  certain  strange  bond  and  a 
bickering  frankness.  On  this  occasion,  however, 
Shiibin  left  his  fat  friend  in  peace:  he  was  taci- 
turn, abstracted,  and  gentle. 

The  sun  already  stood  high  in  the  cloudless 
azure  when  the  carriages  drove  up  to  the  ruins 
of  the  castle  of  Tzaritzyno,  gloomy  and  forbid- 
ding even  at  noon-day.  The  whole  company 
alighted  on  the  grass,  and  immediately  moved 
on  to  the  park.     In  front  walked  Elena  and 

112 


ON  THE  EVE 

Zoya  with  InsarofF;  behind  them,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  complete  bliss  on  her  face,  trod  Anna 
Vasilievna,  arm  in  arm  with  Uvar  Ivanovitch. 
He  panted  and  waddled,  his  new  straw  hat  sawed 
his  forehead,  and  his  feet  burned  in  his  boots, 
but  he  was  enjoying  himself.  Shiibin  and  Berse- 
nefF  closed  the  procession.  *'  We  will  be  in  the 
reserves,  my  dear  fellow,  like  certain  veterans," 
Shubin  whispered  to  BersenefF.  "  Bulgaria  is 
there  now,"  he  added,  indicating  Elena  with  a 
movement  of  his  brows. 

The  weather  was  glorious.  Everything  round 
about  was  blooming,  humming  and  singing; 
in  the  distance  gleamed  the  water  of  the 
ponds;  a  light,  festive  feeling  took  possession  of 
the  soul. — "  Akh,  how  nice!  akh,  how  nice!" — 
Anna  Vasilievna  kept  incessantly  repeating; 
Uvar  Ivanovitch  nodded  his  head  approvingly, 
and  once  he  even  remarked:  "What  's  the  use 
of  talking!  "  Elena  exchanged  words  with  Insa- 
rofF from  time  to  time ;  Zoya  held  the  broad  brim 
of  her  hat  with  two  fingers,  thrust  her  tiny  feet, 
clad  in  light-grey  boots  with  blunt  toes,  coquet- 
tishly  from  beneath  her  rose-coloured  barege 
gown,  and  peered  now  to  one  side,  now  behind 
her.  "Oho!"  suddenly  exclaimed  Shubin,  in  a 
low  tone:  "Zoya  Nikitishna  is  looking  back,  I 
do  believe.  I  '11  go  to  her.  Elena  Nikolaevna 
despises  me  now,  but  she  respects  thee,  Andrei 
Petrovitch,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

113 


ON  THE  EVE 

I  '11  go;  I  Ve  been  sulking  long  enough.  But 
I  advise  thee,  my  friend,  to  botanise:  in  thy  po- 
sition, that  is  the  best  thing  thou  canst  devise ;  and 
it  is  useful  from  a  scientific  point  of  view  also. 
Good-bye!"  Shubin  hastened  to  Zoya,  crooked 
his  arm,  saying,  ''Ihre  Hand,  Madame"  took 
her  arm,  and  marched  on  ahead  with  her.  Elena 
halted,  summoned  BersenefF,  and  took  his  arm, 
but  continued  to  chat  with  Insaroff.  She 
asked  him,  what  were  the  words  in  his  language 
for  hly  of  the  valley,  ash,  oak,  linden  .... 
("Bulgaria!"  thought  poor  Andrei  Petro- 
vitch.) 

All  at  once,  a  shriek  rang  out  in  front;  all 
raised  their  heads.  Shubin's  cigar-case  flew  into 
a  bush,  flung  by  the  hand  of  Zoya.  "  Wait,  I  '11 
pay  you  ofl"  for  that!  "  he  exclaimed,  dived  into 
the  bush,  found  his  cigar-case,  and  was  about  to 
return  to  Zoya ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  approached 
her,  than  again  his  cigar-case  flew  across  the 
path!  Five  times  this  performance  was  re- 
peated, he  laughing  and  menacing  all  the  while; 
but  Zoya  only  smiled  quietly,  and  writhed  like 
a  kitten.  At  last  he  grasped  her  fingers,  and 
squeezed  them  so  that  she  squealed  and  for  a 
long  time  afterward  blew  on  her  hand,  pretend- 
ing to  be  angry,  while  he  hummed  something  in 
her  ear. 

"  Rogues,  the  j^oung  folks,"  remarked  Anna 
Vasilievna  merrily  to  Uvar  Ivanovitch. 

114 


ON  THE  EVE 

The  latter  twiddled  his  fingers. 

"What  a  girl  Zoya  Nikitishna  is!"— Berse- 
nefF  said  to  Elena. 

"  And  Shiibin?  " — she  replied. 

Meanwhile,  the  whole  party  had  reached  the 
arbour,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Pretty  Arbour, 
and  halted  to  admire  the  view  of  the  Tzaritzyno 
ponds.  They  stretched  out,  one  beyond  the 
other,  for  several  versts;  the  dense  forest  lay 
dark  beyond  them.  The  grass  which  covered  the 
entire  slope  of  the  hill  to  the  principal  pond 
imparted  to  the  water  itself  a  remarkably-bril- 
liant emerald  hue.  Nowhere,  even  on  the  shore, 
was  there  a  wave  swelling  or  foam  gleaming 
white ;  not  even  a  ripple  flitted  over  the  even  sur- 
face. It  seemed  as  though  a  mass  of  chilled  glass 
had  spread  itself  out  in  a  huge  font,  and  the  sky 
had  descended  to  its  bottom,  and  the  undulating 
trees  were  gazing  immovably  at  themselves  in  its 
transparent  bosom.  All  admired  the  view  long 
and  in  silence;  even  Shiibin  subsided,  even  Zoya 
grew  pensive.  At  last,  all  were  unanimously 
seized  with  a  desire  to  go  upon  the  water.  Shii- 
bin, InsarofF,  and  BersenefF  ran  a  race  with  one 
another  on  the  grass.  They  hunted  up  a  big, 
gaily-painted  boat,  found  a  couple  of  oarsmen, 
and  called  the  ladies.  The  ladies  descended  to 
them ;  Uvar  Ivanovitch  cautiously  went  down  af- 
ter them.  While  he  was  entering  the  boat,  and 
seating  himself,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  laugh- 

115 


ON  THE  EVE 

ter.  "Look  out,  master!  Don't  drown  us!" 
remarked  one  of  the  rowers,  a  snub-nosed  young 
fellow,  in  a  sprigged  calico  shirt. — "  Come,  come, 
you  windbags!"  said  Uvar  Ivanovitch.  The 
boat  pushed  off.  The  young  men  tried  to  take 
the  oars,  but  only  one  of  them— Insaroff— knew 
how  to  row.  Shiibin  suggested  that  they  sing 
in  chorus  some  Russian  song,  and  himself  started 
up:  "  Adown  dear  Mother  Volga  .  .  .  ."  Ber- 
senefF,  Zoya,  and  even  Anna  Vasilievna  joined 
in  (InsarofF  did  not  know  how  to  sing)  ;  but  a 
discord  ensued  in  the  third  verse,  the  singers 
got  into  confusion  and  BersenefF  alone  tried  to 
continue  in  his  bass  voice:  "  Naught  in  her  waves 
can  be  seen," — but  he,  also,  speedily  became 
disconcerted.  The  rowers  exchanged  winks,  and 
grinned  in  silence. — "  Well?  " — Shiibin  turned 
to  them, — "evidently,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
cannot  sing? " — The  young  fellow  in  the 
sprigged  calico  shirt  merely  shook  his  head. — 
"  Just  wait  then.  Snub-nose," — retorted  Shiibin. 
"  We  '11  show  you.  Zoya  Nikitishna,  sing  us 
'  Le  Lac,'  by  Niedermeyer.  Don't  row,  you!" 
—  The  wet  oars  were  elevated  in  the  air,  like 
wings,  and  there  remained  motionless,  sonor- 
ously trickling  drops ;  the  boat  floated  on  a  little 
further,  and  came  to  a  standstill,  barely  circling 
on  the  water,  like  a  swan.  Zoya  affected  airs. 
"Allons! "  said  Anna  Vasilievna  caressingly. 
....  Zoya  flung  aside  her  hat,  and  began  to 

116 


ON  THE  EVE 

sing :  "^  O  lac,  Vannee  a  peine  a  fini  sa  car- 
nere  .... 

Her  small  but  clear  little  voice  fairly  hurtled 
across  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the  pond;  far 
away,  in  the  forest,  every  word  was  re-echoed; 
it  seemed  as  though  some  one  there  were  singing 
also,  in  a  voice  which  was  distinct  and  mysterious, 
but  not  human  or  of  this  world.  When  Zoya 
had  finished,  a  thunderous  bravo  rang  out  from 
one  of  the  arbours  on  the  shore,  and  from  it 
rushed  forth  several  red-faced  Germans,  who 
had  come  to  Tzaritzyno  to  have  a  carouse.  Sev- 
eral of  them  were  coatless,  minus  cravats,  and 
even  minus  waistcoats,  and  they  roared,  "  Bis! " 
so  violently,  that  Anna  Vasilievna  gave  orders  to 
row  to  the  other  end  of  the  pond  as  quickly  as 
possible.  But,  before  the  boat  reached  the  shore, 
Uvar  Ivanovitch  had  managed  to  astonish  his 
acquaintances  again:  observing  that,  at  one  spot 
of  the  forest,  the  echo  repeated  every  sound  with 
particular  distinctness,  he  suddenly  began  to  call 
like  a  quail.  At  first  all  started,  but  immedi- 
ately they  experienced  genuine  pleasure,  the 
more  so  as  Uvar  Ivanovitch  gave  the  call  with 
great  fidelity  and  lifelikeness.  This  encour- 
aged him,  and  he  tried  to  mew  like  a  cat ;  but  his 
mewing  did  not  turn  out  so  successful;  he 
called  once  more  like  a  quail,  looked  at  them  all, 
and  relapsed  into  silence.  Shiibin  rushed  to  kiss 
him:  he  repulsed  him.    At  that  moment  the  boat 

117 


ON  THE  EVE 

made  its  landing,  and  the  whole  party  got  out  on 
the  shore.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  coachman, 
aided  by  the  footman  and  the  maid,  had  brought 
the  baskets  from  the  carriage,  and  prepared  the 
dinner  on  the  grass,  beneath  the  aged  linden- 
trees.  All  seated  themselves  around  the  out- 
spread table-cloth,  and  began  on  the  pasties  and 
other  viands.  All  had  an  excellent  appetite,  and 
Anna  Vasilievna  kept  constantly  offering  things 
to  her  guests,  and  urging  them  to  eat  more,  as- 
serting that  this  was  very  healthful  in  the  open 
air;  she  addressed  sucli  remarks  even  to  Uvar 
Ivanovitch. — "Be  easy!"  he  bellowed  at  her, 
with  his  mouth  crammed  full.  "  The  Lord  has 
given  such  a  splendid  day!  "  she  kept  incessantly 
repeating.  It  was  impossible  to  stop  her:  she 
seemed  to  have  grown  twenty  years  younger. 
"Yes,  yes,"  she  said;  "I  was  very  comely,  in 
my  time,  also;  they  would  n't  have  rejected  me 
from  the  first  ten,  as  to  looks."— Shiibin  joined 
Zoya,  and  kept  constantly  pouring  wine  for  her; 
she  refused,  he  urged  her,  and  it  ended  in  his 
drinking  a  glass  himself,  then  urging  her  to 
drink  again;  he  also  assured  her  that  he  wanted 
to  lay  his  head  on  her  knees:  she  would  not,  on 
any  terms,  permit  him  "  so  great  a  familiarity." 
Elena  seemed  more  serious  than  all  the  rest,  but 
in  her  heart  there  was  a  wondrous  calm,  such  as 
she  had  not  experienced  for  a  long  time.  She 
felt   herself   infinitely   amiable,   and   constantly 

118 


ON  THE  EVE 

wished  to  have  by  her  side  not  only  InsarofF  but 

also  BersenefF Andrei  Petrovitch  dimly 

apprehended  what  this  meant,  and  sighed  by 
stealth. 

The  hours  flew  past;  evening  drew  on.  Anna 
Vasflievna  suddenly  started  up  in  affright. — 
"  Akh,  good  heavens,  how  late  it  is!  " — she  said. 
"  We  have  had  a  good  time,  but  all  good  things 
must  come  to  an  end."  She  began  to  fidget,  and 
all  began  to  fidget  about,  rose  to  their  feet,  and 
walked  in  the  direction  of  the  castle,  where  the 
equipages  were.  As  they  passed  the  ponds,  all 
halted  to  admire  Tzaritzyno  for  the  last  time. 
Everywhere  flamed  the  brilliant  hues  which  pre- 
cede evening:  the  sky  was  crimson,  the  foliage 
gleamed  with  flitting  sparks,  agitated  by  the 
rising  breeze;  the  distant  waters  flowed  on, 
touched  with  gold;  the  reddish  towers  and  ar- 
bours, scattered  here  and  there  about  the  park, 
stood  out  sharply  against  the  dark  green. 
"  Farewell,  Tzaritzyno,  we  shall  not  forget  our 
trip  of  to-day!"  said  Anna  Vasflievna.  .  .  . 
But  at  that  moment,  as  though  in  confirmation 
of  her  last  words,  a  strange  event  occurred,  which 
really  was  not  so  easily  forgotten. 

Namely:  Anna  Vasilievna  had  not  finished 
wafting  her  farewell  greeting  to  Tzaritzyno, 
when  suddenly,  a  few  paces  from  her,  behind  a 
tall  bush  of  lilacs,  there  rang  out  discordant  ex- 
clamations, laughter  and  shouts — and  a  whole 

119 


ON  THE  EVE 

horde  of  dishevelled  men,  the  very  same  admirers 
of  singing  who  had  so  vigorously  applauded 
Zoya,  poured  out  on  the  path.  The  admirers  of 
singing  appeared  to  be  very  drunk.  They  halted 
at  sight  of  the  ladies;  but  one  of  them,  of  huge 
stature,  with  a  bull  neck,  and  inflamed  eyes  like 
a  bull's,  separated  himself  from  his  companions, 
and,  bowing  clumsily  and  reeling  as  he  walked, 
approached  Anna  Vasflievna,  who  was  petrified 
with  fright. 

"Bon  jour  J  madame" — he  said,  in  a  mighty 
voice, — "  how  is  your  health?  " 

Anna  Vasilievna  staggered  backward. 

"  And  why," — pursued  the  giant,  in  bad  Rus- 
sian,— "  were  not  you  willing  to  sing  his  when 
our  company  shouted,  '  bis,'  and  '  bravo'?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  why?  " — rang  out  in  the  ranks  of 
the  company. 

InsarofF  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  forward, 
but  Shiibin  stopped  him,  and  himself  went  to 
Anna  Vasilievna's  rescue. 

"  Allow  me," — he  began, — "  respected  stran- 
ger, to  express  to  you  the  unfeigned  amazement 
into  which  you  have  thrown  us  all  by  your  be- 
haviour. So  far  as  I  can  judge,  you  belong  to 
the  Saxon  branch  of  the  Caucasian  race;  conse- 
quently, we  are  bound  to  assume  in  you  a  know- 
ledge of  the  social  decencies,  and  yet  you  are 
addressing  a  lady  to  whom  you  have  not  been  in- 
troduced.   At  any  other  time,  believe  me,  I  would 

120 


ON  THE  EVE 

be  particularly  glad  to  make  closer  acquaintance 
with  you ;  for  I  observe  in  you  such  a  phenomenal 
development  of  muscles, — biceps,  triceps,  and 
deltoidseus, — that,  as  a  sculptor,  I  would  regard 
it  as  a  genuine  pleasure  to  have  you  for  a  nude 
model;  but,  on  the  present  occasion,  leave  us  in 
peace." 

The  "  respected  stranger  "  listened  to  the  whole 
of  Shubin's  speech,  scornfully  twisted  his  head 
on  one  side,  and  stuck  his  arms  akimbo. 

"  I  understands  nodings  vat  you  say  to  me," 
he  said  at  last. — "  You  dinks,  perhaps,  dat  I  am 
a  master  shoemaker  or  vatchmaker?  Eh!  I  am 
officer,  I  am  official,  yes." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that," — began  Shii- 
bin  .... 

"  And  dis  is  vat  I  says," — went  on  the  stran- 
ger, brushing  him  off  the  path  like  a  branch  with 
his  powerful  hand, — "I  says:  vy  did  n't  you 
sing  bis  when  we  shouted, '  Bis  '  ?  And  now  I  am 
going  avay,  immediately,  dis  very  minute,  only, 
dis  is  vat  is  necessary,  dat  dis  fraulein,  not  dis 
madam,  dat  is  not  necessary,  but  dis  vun,  or  dis 
vun  "  (he  pointed  at  Elena  and  Zoya),  "  should 
give  me  einen  Kuss,  as  we  say  in  German,  a  kees, 
yes;  vat  of  dat?  it  is  noding." 

"  Nothing,  it  is  nothing,"  rang  out  again  in 
the  ranks  of  the  company.— '^'^7^^/  der  Stakra- 
menter!"  said  one  German,  who  was  already 
roisterously  drunk,  choking  with  laughter. 

121 


ON  THE  EVE 

Zoya  clutched  at  Insaroff 's  arm,  but  he  tore 
himself  free  from  her,  and  placed  himself  di- 
rectly in  front  of  the  insolent  giant. 

"  Please  go  away," — he  said  to  him  in  a  low 
but  sharp  voice. 

The  German  laughed  ponderously. — "  Vat 
you  mean  by  avay?  I  like  dat!  Can't  I  valk 
here  also?  Vat  you  mean  by  avay?  Vy 
avay? " 

"  Because  you  have  dared  to  disturb  a  lady," 
— said  InsarofF,  and  suddenly  paled, — "  because 
you  are  drunk." 

"  Vat?  I  am  drunk?  Do  you  hear?  Horen 
Sie  das,  Herr  Provisor?  I  'm  an  officer,  and  he 
dares  .  .  .  Now  I  shall  demand  Satisfaction! 
Einen  Kuss  will  ich!  " 

"  If  you  take  another  step," — began  Insa- 
rofF   

"Veil?    And  vat  den?" 

"  I  will  throw  you  into  the  water." 

"  Into  de  vater?  Herr  Jet  Is  dat  all?  Come, 
let  's  see,  it  's  very  curious,  how  you  '11  throw  me 
into  de  vater.  .  .  ." 

The  officer  raised  his  arms,  and  started  for- 
ward, but  suddenly  something  remarkable  hap- 
pened: he  gave  a  groan,  his  whole  huge  body 
swayed,  rose  from  the  ground,  his  legs  kicked  in 
the  air,  and  before  the  ladies  had  time  to  shriek, 
before  any  one  could  understand  how  the  thing 
was  done,  the  officer,  with  his  whole  mass,  splashed 

122 


ON  THE  EVE 

heavily  in  the  pond,  and  immediately  disap- 
peared beneath  the  swirling  water. 

"Akh!"  screamed  the  ladies  in  unison. 

"  Mein  Gott!"  was  audible  from  the  other 
side. 

A  minute  elapsed  .  .  .  and  the  round  head, 
all  plastered  with  damp  hair,  made  its  appear- 
ance above  the  water;  it  emitted  bubbles,  that 
head;  two  arms  gesticulated  convulsively  at  its 
very  lips.  .  .  . 

"  He  will  drown,  save  him,  save  him! "  Anna 
Vasilievna  shrieked  to  Insaroff,  who  was  stand- 
ing on  the  shore,  his  legs  planted  far  apart,  and 
panting. 

"  He  '11  swim  out,"  he  said,  with  scornful  and 
pitiless  indifference. — "  Let  us  go," — he  added, 
offering  Anna  Vasilievna  his  arm, — "  come 
along,  Uvar  Ivanovitch,  Elena  Nikolaevna." 

"  A  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  .  o  .  .  .  .  o  .  .  ."  at  that 
moment  resounded  the  j^ell  of  the  unlucky  Ger- 
man, w^ho  had  contrived  to  grasp  the  shore 
reeds. 

All  moved  on  after  Insaroff,  and  all  were 
obliged  to  pass  that  same  "  companie."  But,  de- 
prived of  their  head,  the  roisterers  had  quieted 
down,  and  did  not  utter  a  word;  one  only,  the 
bravest  of  them  all,  muttered,  as  he  shook  his 
head :  "  Well,  but  this  .  .  .  this,  God  knows, 
what  .  .  .  after  this  " ;  and  another  even  pulled 
off  his  hat.     Insaroff  seemed  to  them  very  for- 

123 


ON  THE  EVE 

midable,  and  with  good  cause :  something  malevo- 
lent, something  dangerous  had  come  forth  in  his 
face.  The  Germans  rushed  to  fish  their  comrade 
out,  and  the  latter,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself 
on  dry  land,  began  tearfully  to  curse  and  shout 
after  those  "  Russian  bandits,"  that  he  would 
complain,  that  he  would  go  to  Count  von  Kieze- 
ritz  himself.  .  .  . 

But  the  "  Russian  bandits  "  paid  no  attention 
to  his  shouts,  and  made  all  haste  to  the  cas- 
tle. All  maintained  silence  while  they  walked 
through  the  park,  only  Anna  Vasilievna  sighed 
slightly.  But  at  last  they  approached  their  car- 
riages, halted,  and  an  irrepressible,  interminable 
shout  of  laughter  arose  from  them,  as  with  the 
heaven-dwellers  of  Homer.  First  Shiibin  burst 
out  shrilly,  like  a  crazy  person;  after  him  Berse- 
neiF  rattled  away  like  a  shower  of  peas;  then 
Zoya  scattered  fine  pearls  of  laughter;  Anna 
Vasilievna,  also,  suddenly  went  into  such  parox- 
ysms of  mirth,  that  Elena  could  not  refrain  from 
smiling;  even  Insaroff,  at  last,  could  not  resist. 
But  louder  and  longer  than  all  the  rest,  shouted 
Uvar  Ivanovitch ;  he  roared  until  he  had  a  stitch 
in  the  side,  until  he  sneezed,  until  he  strangled. 
He  would  quiet  down  a  little,  and  say  through 
his  tears:  "  I  .  .  .  think  .  .  .  that  that  knocked 
him  out  ....  but  ...  he  ...  .  splash,  ker- 
flop I"  .  .  .  And  with  the  last,  convulsively  ex- 
pelled word,  a  fresh  outburst  of  laughter  shook 

124 


ON  THE  EVE 

his  whole  frame.  Zoya  spurred  him  on  still  more. 
"  I  see  his  legs  in  the  air,"  said  she.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  yes,"  chimed  in  Uvar  Ivanovitch,— "  his 
legs,  his  legs  . . .  and  then!  and  he  went  spla-ash 
ker-flop!" 

"  Yes,  and  how  did  he  manage  it,  for  the  Ger- 
man was  twice  as  big  as  he? "  asked  Zoya. 

"  I  '11  tell  you," — replied  Uvar  Ivanovitch, 
wiping  his  eyes, — "  I  saw  him  seize  the  man  by 
his  belt  with  one  hand,  thrust  under  his  leg,  and 
then,  slap-dash!  I  hear:  'What's  this?'  .  .  . 
but  he  went  splash,  ker-flop !  " 

The  equipages  had  been  on  their  way  for  a 
long  time,  the  castle  of  Tzaritzyno  had  long  van- 
ished from  sight,  and  still  Uvar  Ivanovitch  could 
not  calm  down.  Shiibin,  who  was  again  driving 
with  him  in  the  calash,  became  ashamed  of  him 
at  last. 

And  Insaroff  felt  conscience-stricken.  He 
sat  in  the  carriage  opposite  Elena  (BerseneiF 
had  placed  himself  on  the  box)  and  preserved 
silence:  she,  also,  was  silent.  He  thought  that 
she  was  condemning  him;  but  she  was  not  con- 
demning him.  She  had  been  very  greatly 
frightened  at  the  first  moment ;  then  she  had  been 
struck  by  the  expression  of  his  face;  after  that, 
she  had  been  engaged  in  meditation.  It  was 
not  quite  clear  to  her  what  she  was  meditating 
about.  The  feeling  which  she  had  experienced 
during  the  course  of  the  day  had  disappeared; 

125 


ON  THE  EVE 

she  was  conscious  of  this;  but  it  had  been  re~ 
placed  by  something  else  which,  as  yet,  she  did 
not  comprehend.  The  partie  de  plaisir  had 
lasted  too  long:  the  evening  had  imperceptibly 
merged  into  night.  The  carriage  rolled  swiftly 
onward,  past  ripe  fields,  where  the  air  was  suf- 
focating and  fragrant  and  redolent  of  grain, 
again  past  broad  meadows,  and  their  sudden 
coolness  beat  upon  the  face  in  a  light  wave.  The 
sky  seemed  to  be  smoking  at  the  edges.  At  last 
the  moon  floated  up,  dull  and  red.  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna  was  dozing ;  Zoya  was  hanging  out  of  the 
window,  and  gazing  at  the  road.  At  last  it  oc- 
curred to  Elena  that  she  had  not  spoken  to  In- 
saroff  for  more  than  an  hour.  She  turned  to 
him  with  a  trivial  question:  he  immediately  an- 
swered her  joyously.  Certain  indefinite  sounds 
began  to  be  wafted  through  the  air :  JMoscow  was 
hastening  to  meet  them.  Ahead  of  them  twin- 
kled tiny  points  of  light;  their  number  kept 
constantly  increasing;  at  last,  the  stones  of  the 
pavement  rang  beneath  their  wheels.  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna  waked  up ;  all  in  the  carriage  began  to  talk, 
although  not  one  of  them  was  able  to  hear  what 
the  conversation  was  about,  so  loudly  did  the 
pavement  resound  beneath  the  two  carriages  and 
the  thirty-two  hoofs  of  the  horses.  Long  and 
wearisome  did  the  transit  from  JMoscow  to  Kiint- 
zovo  appear;  everybody  was  asleep  or  silent, 
with  heads   nestled   in   various   corners;   Elena 

126 


ON  THE  EVE 

alone  did  not  close  her  eyes:  she  never  re- 
moved them  from  Insaroff's  dark  figure.  Mel- 
ancholy had  descended  upon  Shubin:  the  breeze 
blew  in  his  eyes,  and  irritated  him;  he  muffled 
himself  in  the  collar  of  his  cloak,  and  all  but 
wept.  Uvar  Ivanovitch  was  snoring  blissfully, 
swaying  to  right  and  left.  At  last  the  equipages 
came  to  a  halt.  Two  footmen  carried  Anna 
Vasilievna  from  the  carriage;  she  was  com- 
pletely done  up,  and  announced  to  her  fellow- 
travellers,  as  she  took  leave  of  them,  that  she 
was  barely  alive;  they  began  to  thank  her,  but 
she  merely  repeated:  "Barely  alive."  Elena 
shook  Insaroff's  hand  for  the  first  time;  and  sat 
for  a  long  time,  without  undressing,  at  her  win- 
dow; while  Shubin  seized  the  opportunity  to 
whisper  to  BersenefF  as  the  latter  departed: 

"  Well,  and  why  is  n't  he  a  hero? — he  pitches 
drunken  Germans  into  the  water!  " 

"  But  thou  didst  not  do  even  that," — retorted 
Berseneff ,  and  went  home  with  InsarofF. 

The  dawn  was  already  invading  the  sky  when 
the  two  friends  regained  their  lodgings.  The 
sun  had  not  yet  risen,  but  the  chill  had  already 
set  in,  the  grey  dew  covered  the  grass,  and  the 
first  larks  were  carolling  on  high  in  the  half -twi- 
light aerial  abj^ss,  whence,  like  a  solitary  eye, 
gazed  one  huge,  last  star. 


127 


XVI 

Shortly  after  Elena  had  made  Insaroif 's  ac- 
quaintance, she  had  (for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time) 
begun  a  diary.  Here  are  excerpts  from  that 
diary: 

"  Jwne  ....  Andrei  Petrovitch  brings  me  books,  but 
I  cannot  read  them.  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  this  to 
him;  I  do  not  wish  to  return  the  books,  to  he,  to  say 
that  I  have  read  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  that  would 
grieve  him.  He  notices  everything  in  me.  Apparently, 
he  is  very  much  attached  to  me.  He  is  a  very  nice  man, 
is  Andrei  Petrovitch. 

"  .  .  .  .  What  is  it  that  I  want.?  Why  is  my  heart 
so  heavy,  so  languid?  Why  do  I  gaze  with  envy  at  the 
birds  which  flit  past?  I  believe  that  I  would  like  to  fly 
with  them,  fly — whither  I  know  not,  only  far  away  from 
here.  And  is  not  that  desire  sinful?  Here  I  have  a 
mother,  a  father,  a  family.  Do  not  I  love  them?  No  ! 
I  do  not  love  them  as  I  would  like  to  love  them.  It  is 
terrible  for  me  to  speak  this  out,  but  it  is  the  truth. 
Perhaps  I  am  a  great  sinner ;  perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  am  so  sad,  why  I  have  no  peace.  Some  hand  or 
other  lies  heavy  on  me,  is  crushing  me.  It  is  as  though 
I  were  in  prison,  and  as  though  the  walls  were  on  the 
point  of  falling  upon  me.  Why  do  not  other  people 
feel  this?     Whom  shall  I  love,  if  I  am  cold  to  my  own 

128 


ON  THE  EVE 

people?  Evidently,  papa  is  right:  he  accuses  me  of 
loving  only  dogs  and  cats.  I  must  think  this  over.  I 
pray  but  little;  I  must  pray.  .  .  .  But  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  could  love ! 

"  ....  I  am  still  timid  with  Mr.  Insaroff .  I  do  not 
know  why;  I  am  not  so  very  young,  I  think,  and  he  is 
so  simple  and  kind.  He  sometimes  wears  a  very  serious 
face.  It  must  be  that  he  has  no  time  for  us.  I  feel  it, 
and  I  am  ashamed,  as  it  were,  to  rob  him  of  his  time. 
Andrei  Petrovitch — is  another  matter.  I  am  ready  to 
chat  with  him  all  day  long.  But  he  keeps  talking  to 
me  about  Insaroff.  And  what  terrible  details !  I  saw 
him  in  my  dreams  last  night,  with  a  dagger  in  his  hand. 
And  he  seemed  to  say  to  me :  *  I  will  kill  thee,  and  kill 
myself.'    What  nonsense ! 

"  .  .  .  .  Oh,  if  some  one  would  only  say  to  me :  '  Here, 
this  is  what  thou  shouldst  do ! '  To  be  good — that  is  not 
enough;  to  do  good  .  .  .  yes;  that  is  the  principal 
thing  in  life.  But  how  shall  I  do  good.'*  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  control  myself!  I  do  not  know  why  I  think  so 
often  of  Mr.  Insaroff.  When  he  comes,  and  sits,  and 
listens  attentively,  but  makes  no  effort  himself,  no  fuss, 
I  gaze  at  him,  and  find  it  agreeable — nothing  more;  but 
when  he  goes  away,  I  keep  recalling  his  words,  and  I  am 
vexed  with  myself,  and  I  even  grow  excited  ...  I  know 
not  why.  (He  speaks  French  badly,  and  is  not  ashamed 
of  it — I  like  that. )  However,  I  always  do  think  a  great 
deal  about  new  people.  In  chatting  with  him,  I  sud- 
denly recalled  our  butler  Vasily,  who  dragged  a  helpless 
old  man  from  a  burning  cottage,  and  came  near  perish- 
ing himself.  Papa  called  him  a  fine  fellow,  mamma  gave 
him  five  rubles,  but  I  wanted  to  bow  down  at  his  feet. 

129 


ON  THE  EVE 

He  had  a  simple,  even  a  stupid  face,  and  he  became  a 
drunkard  afterward. 

" To-day  I  gave  a  copper  coin  to  a  poor 

woman,  and  she  said  to  me : '  Why  art  thou  so  sad?  '  And 
I  did  not  even  suspect  that  I  had  a  sad  aspect.  I  think 
it  arises  from  the  fact  that  I  am  alone,  always  alone,  with 
all  my  good  and  all  my  bad.  I  have  no  one  to  whom 
I  can  give  my  hand.  The  one  who  approaches  me  is  not 
the  one  I  want,  and  the  one  I  would  Hke  ....  passes 
me  by. 

"  ....  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me 
to-day ;  my  head  is  in  a  snarl,  I  am  ready  to  fall  on  my 
knees  and  beg  and  pray  for  mercy.  I  do  not  know  who  is 
doing  it,  or  how  it  is  being  done,  but  it  seems  as  though  I 
were  being  murdered,  and  I  shriek  inwardly  and  rebel: 
I  weep,  and  cannot  hold  my  peace.  .  .  .  My  God !  My 
God!  quell  thou  these  transports  in  me!  Thou  alone 
canst  do  this,  all  else  is  powerless:  neither  my  insignifi- 
cant alms,  nor  occupations,  nothing,  nothing,  notliing 
can  help  me.  I  would  hke  to  go  off  somewhere  as  a 
servant,  truly :  I  should  feel  more  at  ease. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  youth,  why  do  I  live,  why  have 
I  a  soul,  to  what  end  is  all  this.'' 

"  .  .  .  .  Insaroff,  Mr,  InsarofF — I  really  do  not 
know  how  to  write — continues  to  occupy  my  thoughts. 
I  would  like  to  know  what  he  has  in  his  soul.  Appar- 
ently, he  is  so  frank,  so  accessible,  yet  notliing  is  visible 
to  me.  Sometimes  he  looks  at  me  with  eyes  which  seem 
to  be  scrutinising  ...  or  is  that  only  my  fancy?  Paul 
is  constantly  teasing  me — I  am  angry  with  Paul.  Wliat 
does  he  want?  He  is  in  love  with  me  .  .  .  but  I  do  not 
want  his  love.    He  is  in  love  with  Zoya  also.    I  am  unjust 

130 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  him ;  he  told  me  yesterday,  that  I  did  not  know  how  to 
be  unjust  half-way  .   .   .  that  is  true.     It  is  very  wrong. 

"  Akh,  I  feel  that  unhappiness  is  necessary  to  a  man, 
or  poverty,  or  illness,  otherwise  he  grows  arrogant  at 
once. 

"  .  .  .  .  Why  did  Andrei  Pctrovitch  tell  me  to-day 
about  those  two  Bulgarians?  It  seemed  as  though  he 
told  me  that  with  a  purpose.  What  is  Mr.  Insaroff  to 
me.''     I  am  angry  with  Andrei  Petrovitch. 

"  ....  I  take  up  my  pen  and  do  not  know  how  to 
begin.  How  unexpectedly  he  talked  with  me  in  the  gar- 
den to-day !  How  affectionate  and  confidential  he  was ! 
How  quickly  this  has  come  about !  It  is  as  though  we 
were  old,  old  friends,  and  had  only  just  recognised  each 
other.  How  could  I  have  failed  to  understand  him 
hitherto !  How  near  he  is  to  me  now !  And  this  is  the 
astonishing  part  of  it:  I  have  become  much  calmer  now. 
I  find  it  ridiculous:  yesterday  I  was  angry  with  Andrei 
Petrovitch, — at  him, — I  even  called  him  Mr.  Insaroff; 
but  to-day  .  .  .  Here,  at  last,  is  an  upright  man ;  here 
is  some  one  on  whom  I  can  rely.  This  man  does  not  lie: 
he  is  the  first  man  I  have  met  who  does  not  lie:  all  the 
rest  lie,  lie  continually.  Andrei  Petrovitch,  dear  and 
kind,  why  do  I  insult  you  ?  No !  Andrei  Petrovitch  is  more 
learned  than  he,  perhaps,  perhaps  he  is  even  cleverer,  .  . 
But,  I  do  not  know,  he  is  such  a  small  man  beside  him. 
When  he  speaks  of  his  fatherland,  he  grows,  and  grows, 
and  his  face  becomes  handsome,  and  his  voice  is  like  steel, 
and  it  seems  as  though  there  were  not  a  man  in  the  world 
before  whom  he  would  lower  his  eyes.  And  he  not  only 
talks — he  acts,  and  will  act.  I  shall  question  him.  .  .  . 
How  suddenly  he  turned  to  me,  and  smiled  at  me !  .   .  . 

131 


ON  THE  EVE 

Only  brothers  smile  in  that  way.  Akh,  how  content  I 
am !  When  he  came  to  us  for  the  first  time,  I  did  not,  in 
the  least,  think  that  he  would  become  a  close  friend  so 
soon !  And  now  it  even  pleases  me  that  I  remained  indif- 
ferent that  first  time.  Indifferent !  Can  it  be  that  I  am 
not  indifferent  now?  .   .  . 

" It  is  a  long  time  since  I  felt  such  inward 

peace.  It  is  so  still  within  me,  so  still.  And  there  is 
nothing  to  record.  I  see  him  often,  that  is  all.  What 
else  is  there  to  record? 

"  .  .  .  .  Paul  has  shut  himself  in  his  room,  Andrei 
Petrovitch  has  taken  to  coming  more  rarely  ....  Poor 
fellow !  it  seems  to  me  that  he  .  .  .  however,  that  is  im- 
possible. I  love  to  talk  with  Andrei  Petrovitch:  never 
a  word  about  himself,  always  something  practical,  use- 
ful. With  Shubin  the  case  is  different.  Shiibin  is  as 
gorgeously  arrayed  as  a  butterfly,  and  admires  his  ar- 
ray: butterflies  do  not  do  that.  However,  both  Shubin 
and  Andrei  Petrovitch  ...  I  know  what  I  want  to 
say. 

"  .  .  .  .  He  finds  it  agreeable  to  come  to  our  house, 
I  see  that.  But  why?  What  has  he  found  in  me? 
Really,  our  tastes  are  similar:  neither  of  us  is  fond  of 
poetry:  neither  of  us  knows  anything  about  art.  But 
how  much  better  he  is  than  I  am !  He  is  calm,  I  am  in 
perpetual  agitation;  he  has  a  road,  a  goal — but  as  for 
me,  whither  am  I  going?  where  is  my  nest?  He  is  calm, 
but  all  his  thougl^ts  are  far  away.  The  time  will  come 
when  he  will  leave  us  forever,  and  go  away  to  his  own 
land,  yonder,  beyond  the  sea.  What  of  that?  God 
grant  he  may !  Nevertheless,  I  shall  be  glad  that  I  have 
known  him  while  he  was  here. 

132 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Why  is  not  he  a  Russian  ?  No,  he  cannot  be  a  Rus- 
sian. 

"  And  mamma  likes  him.  She  says :  *  He  is  a  modest 
man.'  Kind  mamma!  She  does  not  understand  him. 
Paul  holds  his  peace:  he  has  divined  that  his  hints  are 
displeasing  to  me,  but  he  is  jealous  of  him.  Wicked 
boy!    And  by  what  right.'*     Have  I  ever 

"  All  this  is  nonsense !  Why  does  this  keep  coming 
into  my  head.'' 

"  .  .  .  .  But  it  is  really  strange  that  so  far,  up  to 
the  age  of  twenty,  I  have  never  been  in  love  with  any 
one.  It  seems  to  me  that  D.  (I  shall  call  him  D.,  I  like 
that  name:  Dmitry)  is  so  clear  in  soul  because  he  has 
given  himself  wholly  to  his  cause,  to  his  dream.  What 
is  there  for  him  to  be  agitated  about.?  He  who  has 
consecrated  himself  wholly  .  .  .  wholly  ....  wholly 
....  has  little  grief,  he  no  longer  is  responsible  for 
anything.  It  is  not  /  who  will ;  it  wills.  By  the  way, 
he  and  I  both  love  the  same  flowers.     I  plucked  a  rose 

to-day.     One  petal  fell,  he  picked  it  up I  gave 

him  the  whole  rose. 

"  .  .  .  .  D.  comes  often  to  us.  Yesterday  he  sat 
here  the  whole  evening.  He  wants  to  teach  me  Bul- 
garian. I  felt  at  ease  with  him,  as  though  at  home. 
Better  than  at  home. 

"  .  .  .  .  The  days  fly I  am  both  happy  and, 

for  some  reason,  apprehensive,  and  I  feel  like  thanking 
God,  and  the  tears  are  not  far  off'.  O  warm,  bright 
days! 

"  ....  I  still  feel  light  of  heart,  as  of  yore,  and 
only  rarely  a  little  sad.     I  am  happy.     Am  1  happy.? 
....  It  will  be  long  before   I   shall   forget  the 

133 


(( 


ON  THE  EVE 

jaunt  of  yesterday.  What  strange,  novel,  terrible  im- 
pressions !  When  he  suddenly  seized  that  giant  and 
hurled  him,  like  a  small  ball,  into  the  water,  I  was  not 
frightened  ....  but  he  frightened  me.  And  after- 
ward— what  an  ominous,  almost  cruel  face!  How  he 
said :  '  He  '11  swim  out ! '  It  upset  me  completely.  It 
must  be  that  I  have  not  understood  him.  And  then, 
when  every  one  was  laughing,  when  I  laughed,  how 
pained  I  felt  for  him !  He  was  ashamed,  I  felt  that, — he 
was  ashamed  before  me.  He  told  me  that,  later  on,  in  the 
carriage,  in  the  darkness,  when  I  tried  to  scrutinise  him, 
and  was  afraid  of  him.  Yes,  one  cannot  jest  with  him, 
and  he  does  know  how  to  defend  himself.  But  why 
that  viciousness,  why  those  quivering  lips,  that  venom 
in  the  eyes.''  Or,  perhaps  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Is 
it  impossible  to  be  a  man,  a  champion,  and  remain  gentle 
and  soft.''  Life  is  a  harsh  matter,  he  said  to  me  not  long 
ago.  I  repeated  this  remark  to  Andrei  Petrovitch;  he 
did  not  agree  with  D.  Which  of  them  is  right.''  And 
how  that  day  began !  How  happy  I  was  to  walk  by  his 
side,  even  in  silence.  .  .  .  But  I  am  glad  that  it  hap- 
pened.    Evidently,  it  was  as  it  should  be. 

"  .  .   .   .  Again    uneasiness I    am    not    quite 

well. 

"  .  .  .  .  All  these  last  days  I  have  not  recorded  any- 
thing in  this  note-book,  because  I  did  not  wish  to  write. 
I  felt  that,  whatever  I  might  write,  it  would  not  be  what 
was  in  my  soul.  .  .  .  And  what  is  in  my  soul.''  I  have 
had  a  long  interview  with  him,  which  has  revealed  to  me 
many  things.  He  told  me  about  his  plans  (by  the  way, 
I  know  now  why  he  has  that  wound  on  the  neck.  . 
My  God !  when  I  think  that  he  was  already  condemned 

134 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  death,  that  he  barely  escaped,  that  he  was  wounded 

).    He  foresees  a  war,  and  rejoices  at  it.    And, 

nevertheless,  I  have  never  seen  D.  so  sad.  What  can 
he  ....  he!  ....  be  sad  about .f*  Papa  returned 
from  the  town,  found  us  together,  and  gave  us  rather  a 
strange  look.  Andrei  Petrovitch  came:  I  notice  that  he 
has  grown  very  thin  and  pale.  He  reproached  me  for, 
as  he  said,  treating  Shubin  too  coldly  and  carelessly. 
But  I  had  quite  forgotten  Paul.  When  I  see  him,  I  will 
try  to  repair  my  fault.  But  I  am  not  in  the  mood  for 
him  now  ....  nor  for  any  one  in  the  world.  Andrei 
Petrovitch  talked  to  me  with  a  sort  of  compassion.  What 
is  the  meaning  of  all  this.?  Why  is  all  around  me  and 
within  me  dark,?  It  seems  to  me,  that  around  me  and 
within  me  something  enigmatic  is  in  progress,  that  the 
answer  must  be  sought  .... 

"  ....  I  did  not  sleep  last  night ;  my  head  aches. 
Why  should  I  write?     He  went  away  so  soon  to-day, 

and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him He  seems  to  shun 

me.     Yes,  he  does  shun  me. 

"  .  .  .  .  The  answer  is  found,  a  light  has  dawned 
upon  me !    O  God !  have  pity  on  rae.  .  .  .  I  am  in  love !  " 


135 


XVII 

On  the  day  when  Elena  inscribed  this  last,  fate- 
ful word  in  her  diary,  Insaroff  sat  in  BersenefF's 
room,  and  BersenefF  stood  before  him  with  an 
expression  of  amazement  on  his  face.  InsarofF 
had  just  announced  to  him  his  intention  to  re- 
move to  Moscow  on  the  following  day. 

"Good  gracious!" — exclaimed  Berseneff: — 
"  the  very  finest  part  of  the  season  is  beginning. 
What  will  you  do  in  Moscow?  What  a  sudden 
decision!    Or  have  you  received  some  news?  " 

"  I  have  received  no  news,"  returned  InsarofF 
— "  but,  according  to  my  views,  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  remain  here." 

"  But  how  is  it  possible " 

*'  Andrei  Petrovitch,"— said  InsaroiF,— "  be 
so  good  as  not  to  insist,  I  entreat  you.  It  pains 
me  to  part  with  you,  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 

BerseneiF  stared  fixedly  at  him. 

"  I  know," — he  said  at  last, — "  you  are  not 
to  be  convinced.    And  so,  the  matter  is  settled?  " 

"  Completely  settled,"— repHed  InsarofF,  ris- 
ing and  withdrawing. 

BersenefF  strode  about  the  room,  seized  his 
hat,  and  betook  himself  to  the  StakhofFs. 

136 


ON  THE  EVE 


(< 


You  have  something  to  impart  to  me,** — 
Elena  said  to  him,  as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone 
together. 

"  Yes;  how  did  you  guess?  " 

"  No  matter.    Tell  me,  what  is  it?  " 

BersenefF  communicated  to  her  InsarofF's  re- 
solve. 

Elena  turned  pale. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  " — she  articulated  with 
difficulty. 

"  You  know," — said  BersenefF, — "  that  Dmi- 
try Nikanorovitch  does  not  like  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  his  actions.  But  I  think  ....  Let 
us  sit  down,  Elena  Nikolaevna;  you  do  not  seem 
to  be  quite  well  ....  I  think  I  can  guess  the 
real  cause  of  this  sudden  departure." 

"  What— what  is  the  cause?  "  repeated  Elena, 
clasping  BersenefF's  hand  tightly,  without  her- 
self being  aware  of  it,  in  her  hands,  which  had 
grown  cold. 

"  Well,  you  see,"~began  Berseneff  with  a 
melancholy  smile — "  how  shall  I  explain  it  to  you? 
I  must  revert  to  last  spring,  to  the  time  when  I  be- 
came more  intimately  acquainted  with  Insaroff. 
I  then  met  him  at  the  house  of  a  relation ;  this  re- 
lation had  a  daughter,  a  very  pretty  young  girl. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  InsarofF  was  not  indifFer- 
ent  to  her  and  I  said  so  to  him.  He  laughed,  and 
answered  me  that  I  was  mistaken,  that  his  heart 
had  not  sufFered,  but  that  he  would  go  away  at 

137 


ON  THE  EVE 

once,  if  anything  of  that  sort  should  happen  with 
him,  as  he  did  not  wish — those  were  his  very 
words — to  betray  his  cause  and  his  duty  for 
the  satisfaction  of  his  personal  feelings.  '  I  am 
a  Bulgarian,'  he  said,  '  and  I  want  no  Russian 
love.'  " 

"  Well  .  .  .  and  do  you  ....  now  .  .  .  ." 
whispered  Elena,  involuntarily  turning  away  her 
head,  like  a  person  who  is  expecting  a  blow,  but 
still  not  releasing  BerseneiF's  hand  from  her 
grasp. 

"  I  think  " — he  said,  and  lowered  his  voice — 
"  I  think  that  that  has  now  happened  which  I 
then  erroneously  assumed." 

"  That  is  to  say  .  .  .  you  think  ....  do  not 
torture  me!  " — broke  out  Elena  suddenly. 

"  I  think," — hastily  went  on  BersenefF, — 
"  that  InsarofF  has  now  fallen  in  love  with  a  Rus- 
sian maiden,  and,  in  accordance  with  his  vow,  he  is 
resolved  to  flee." 

Elena  gripped  his  hand  still  more  tightly,  and 
bent  her  head  still  lower,  as  though  desirous  of 
hiding  from  the  sight  of  an  outsider  the  flush  of 
shame  which  overspread  her  whole  face  and  neck 
with  sudden  flame. 

"  Andrei  Petrovitch,  you  are  as  kind  as  an 
angel," — she  said, — "  but,  surely,  he  will  come  to 
bid  us  farewell?  " 

"  Yes,  I  assume  that  he  will  certainly  come,  be- 
cause he  does  not  wish  to  go  .  .  ." 

138 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Tell  him,  tell  him  .  .  .  ." 

But  here  the  poor  girl  broke  down:  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes,  and  she  rushed  from  the 
room. 

"  So  that  is  how  she  loves  him,"  thought  Ber- 
seneff ,  as  he  slowly  wended  his  way  homeward. 
"  I  did  not  expect  that;  I  did  not  expect  that  it 
was  already  so  strong.  I  am  kind,  she  says," — 
he  continued  his  meditations  .  .  .  .  "  Who  shall 
say  by  virtue  of  what  feelings  and  motives  I  have 
communicated  all  this  to  Elena?  But  not  out 
of  kindness,  not  out  of  kindness.  Is  it  that 
accursed  desire  to  convince  myself  whether  the 
dagger  is  still  sticking  in  the  wound?  I  must  be 
content — they  love  each  other,  and  I  have  helped 
them.  .  .  .  '  The  future  mediator  between 
science  and  the  Russian  public,'  Shiibin  calls  me ; 
evidently  it  is  written  in  my  destiny  that  I  shall 
be  a  mediator.  But  what  if  I  have  made  a  mis- 
take?   No,  I  have  not.  .  .  ." 

It  was  bitter  for  Andrei  Petrovitch,  and  Rau- 
mer  never  entered  his  head. 

On  the  following  day,  at  two  o'clock,  InsarofF 
presented  himself  at  the  StakliofFs.  As  though 
expressly  at  that  hour,  in  Anna  Vasilievna's 
drawing-room  sat  a  neighbour,  the  wife  of  the 
arch-priest,  who  was  a  very  kind  and  respectable 
woman,  but  had  had  a  trifling  unpleasantness  with 
the  police,  because  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head, 
at  the  very  hottest  part  of  the  day,  to  bathe  in 

139 


ON  THE  EVE 

a  pond  near  a  road  along  which  the  family  of 
some  influential  general  or  other  was  wont  to 
drive.  The  presence  of  an  outsider  was,  at  first, 
even  agreeable  to  Elena,  from  whose  face  every 
drop  of  blood  had  fled  as  soon  as  she  heard  Insa- 
rofl"s  tread;  but  her  heart  died  within  her  at  the 
thought  that  he  might  take  leave  without  having 
spoken  with  her  in  private.  He  also  appeared 
embarrassed,  and  avoided  her  gaze.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible that  he  will  take  leave  at  once?"  thought 
Elena.  In  fact,  Insarofl*  was  on  the  point  of  ad- 
dressing Anna  Vasflievna,  when  Elena  rose,  and 
hastily  called  him  aside  to  the  window.  The 
arch-priest's  wife  was  surprised,  and  tried  to  turn 
round;  but  she  was  so  tightly  laced  that  her  cor- 
set squeaked  at  every  movement  she  made.  She 
remained  motionless. 

"  Listen," — said  Elena  hurriedly, — "  I  know 
why  you  are  come;  Andrei  Petrovitch  has  told 
me  of  your  intention;  but  I  beg  you,  I  entreat 
you,  not  to  bid  us  farewell  to-day,  but  to 
come  hither  to-morrow  at  an  earher  hour — about 
eleven  o'clock.  I  must  say  a  couple  of  words  to 
you." 

Insarofl*  inclined  his  head  in  silence. 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you.  .  .  .  Do  you  promise 
me?" 

Again  Insarofl*  bowed,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Come  here,  Lenotchka," — said  Anna  Vasi- 

140 


ON  THE  EVE 

lievna, — "  see  here:  what  a  splendid  reticule  the 
matushka  ^  has !  " 

"  I  embroidered  it  myself,"  said  the  arch- 
priest's  wife. 

Elena  quitted  the  window. 

InsaroiF  did  not  remain  more  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  at  the  Staklioffs'.  Elena  watched  him 
covertly.  He  fidgeted  about  on  his  seat  as 
usual,  did  not  know  where  to  fix  his  eyes,  and 
went  away  in  a  strange,  abrupt  manner,  just  as 
though  he  had  vanished. 

The  day  passed  slowly  for  Elena;  still  more 
slowly  did  the  long,  long  night  drag  out  its  course. 
Elena,  at  times,  sat  on  her  bed,  clasping  her 
knees  with  her  arms,  and  with  her  head  resting  on 
them;  again  she  walked  to  the  window,  pressed 
her  burning  brow  to  the  cold  glass,  and  thought, 
thought,  thought,  until  she  was  exhausted,  the 
same  thoughts,  over  and  over  again.  Her  heart 
had  not  precisely  turned  to  stone,  nor  yet  had  it 
vanished  from  her  breast ;  she  did  not  feel  it,  but 
the  veins  in  her  head  throbbed  violently,  and  her 
hair  burned  her,  and  her  lips  were  parched.  "  He 
will  come  ...  he  did  not  bid  mamma  good-bye 
...  he  will  not  deceive Can  it  be  that  An- 
drei Petrovitch  spoke  the  truth?     It  cannot  be. 

1  Matushka— dear  little  mother— is  the  characteristic  Russian  form 
of  address  for  women  of  all  classes;  but  it  is  particularly  applied  to 
the  wives  of  ecclesiastics.  Bdtiushka — dear  little  father— is  used,  ger;- 
erally  and  specifically,  in  the  same  way. — Thaxslatob. 

141 


ON  THE  EVE 

....  He  did  not  promise  in  words  to  come.  .  . 
Can  it  be  that  I  have  parted  from  him  forever?  " 
....  Such  thoughts  as  these  never  quitted  her 
.  .  .  precisely  that,  never  quitted  her:  they  did 
not  come,  they  did  not  return, — they  surged  to 
and  fro  incessantly  within  her,  like  a  fog. 
— "He  loves  me  I"  suddenly  flared  up  through 
all  her  being,  and  she  stared  intently  into  the 
gloom;  a  mysterious  smile,  unseen  by  any  one, 

parted  her  lips but  she  instantly  shook 

her  head,  laid  the  clenched  fingers  of  her  hand 
against  her  nape,  and  again,  like  a  fog,  the  for- 
mer thoughts  surged  within  her.  Just  before 
dawn,  she  undressed  herself,  and  went  to  bed, 
but  could  not  sleep.  The  first  fiery  rays  of  the 
sun  beat  into  her  room.  ..."  Oh,  if  he  does 
love  mel" — she  suddenly  exclaimed,  and,  un- 
abashed by  the  light  which  illuminated  her,  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  in  an  embrace.  .  .  . 

She  rose,  dressed  herself,  went  down-stairs. 
No  one  was  awake  in  the  house  as  yet.  She  went 
into  the  garden ;  but  in  the  garden  it  was  so  still, 
and  green,  and  cool,  the  birds  chirped  so  con- 
fidingly, the  flowers  gazed  forth  so  gaily,  that  she 
felt  uncomfortable.— "Oh!"— she  thought,  "if 
it  is  true,  there  is  not  a  single  blade  of  grass  which 
is  happier  than  I, — but  is  it  true?  "  She  returned 
to  her  chamber,  and,  for  the  sake  of  killing  time, 
began  to  change  her  gown.  But  everything 
slipped  and  fell  from  her  hands,  and  she  was  still 

142 


ON  THE  EVE 

sitting,  half -clad,  in  front  of  her  dressing-glass 
when  she  was  summoned  to  drink  tea.  She  went 
down-stairs;  her  mother  observed  her  pallor,  but 
said  merely:  "  How  interesting  thou  art  to-day!  " 
and,  sweeping  a  glance  over  her, she  added:  "  That 
gown  is  very  becoming  to  thee ;  thou  shouldst  al- 
ways put  it  on  when  thou  hast  a  mind  to  please 
any  one."  Elena  made  no  reply,  and  seated  her- 
self in  a  corner.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  clock 
struck  nine;  two  hours  still  remained  before 
eleven.  Elena  took  up  a  book,  then  tried  to  sew, 
then  took  to  her  book  again ;  then  she  made  a  vow 
to  herself  that  she  would  walk  the  length  of  one 
avenue  one  hundred  times,  and  did  it;  then  for 
a  long  time  she  watched  Anna  Vasilievna  laying 
out  her  game  of  patience  ....  and  glanced  at  the 
clock:  it  was  not  yet  ten.  Shiibin  came  into  the 
drawing-room.  She  tried  to  talk  to  him,  and 
begged  him  to  excuse  her,  without  knowing  why 
she  did  so.  .  .  .  Her  every  word  did  not  so  much 
cost  her  an  effort  as  it  evoked  in  her  a  sort  of 
surprise.  Shiibin  bent  down  to  her.  She  ex- 
pected a  jeer,  raised  her  eyes,  and  beheld  before 
her  a  sorrowful  and  friendly  face.  .  .  She  smiled 
at  that  face.  Shiibin  also  smiled  at  her  in  silence, 
and  quietly  left  the  room.  She  wanted  to  detain 
him,  but  did  not  inmiediately  recall  his  name.  At 
last  the  clock  struck  eleven.  She  began  to  wait, 
wait,  wait,  and  listen.  She  could  no  longer  do 
anything:  she  had  ceased  even  to  think.     Her 

143 


ON  THE  EVE 

heart  came  to  life,  and  began  to  beat  more  and 
more  loudly,  and,  strange  to  say !  the  time  seemed 
to  fly  more  swiftly.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed, 
half  an  hour  passed,  several  minutes  more  passed, 
as  it  seemed  to  Elena;  and  suddenly  she  started: 
the  clock  did  not  strike  twelve,  it  struck  one. — 
"  He  will  not  come,  he  is  going  away  without 
saying  good-bye.  .  .  ."  This  thought,  together 
with  the  blood,  rushed  to  her  head.  She  felt  that 
she  was  choking,  that  she  was  on  the  point  of 
sobbing.  .  .  .  She  ran  to  her  room,  and  fell  face 
down  on  her  clasped  hands  on  the  bed. 

For  half  an  hour  she  lay  motionless;  tears 
streamed  between  her  fingers  on  the  pillow. 
Suddenly  she  sat  up:  something  strange  had 
taken  place  in  her ;  her  face  underwent  a  change, 
her  wet  eyes  dried  of  their  own  accord  and 
beamed,  her  eyebrows  drew  together,  her  lips  com- 
pressed themselves.  Another  half -hour  passed. 
For  the  last  time,  Elena  bent  her  ear  to  hear 
whether  a  familiar  voice  would  be  wafted  to  her. 
She  rose,  put  on  her  hat  and  gloves,  threw  a  man- 
tilla over  her  shoulders,  and  slipping  unseen  out 
of  the  house,  she  walked  briskly  along  the  road 
which  led  to  BersenefF's  lodging. 


144 


XVIII 

Elena  walked  along  with  drooping  head  and 
eyes  fixed  unswervingly  in  front  of  her.  She 
feared  nothing,  she  considered  nothing;  she 
wanted  to  see  InsarofF  once  more.  She  walked 
on,  without  noticing  that  the  sun  had  long  since 
disappeared,  veiled  in  heavy,  dark  clouds,  that  the 
wind  was  roaring  in  gusts  among  the  trees  and 
whirling  her  gown  about,  that  the  dust  had  risen 
suddenly,  and  was  sweeping  in  a  column  along 
the  road.  .  .  .  Large  raindrops  began  to  patter, 
she  did  not  notice  them ;  but  the  rain  came  faster 
and  faster,  with  constantly  increasing  violence, 
the  lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  pealed.  Elena 
halted,  and  glanced  about  her.  .  .  .  Fortunately 
for  her,  not  far  from  the  spot  where  the  thunder- 
storm had  overtaken  her,  there  was  an  ancient, 
abandoned  chapel,  over  a  ruined  well.  She  ran 
to  it,  and  entered  beneath  the  low  shed.  The  rain 
poured  down  in  torrents;  the  whole  sky  was  ob- 
scured. With  mute  despair  Elena  stared  at  the 
fine  network  of  swiftly  falling  drops.  Her  last 
hope  of  seeing  InsarofF  had  vanished.  A  poor 
old  beggar-woman  entered  the  little  chapel,  shook 
herself,  said  with  an  obeisance,  "  Out  of  the  rain, 
dear  little  mother,"  and,  grunting  and  groaning, 

145 


ON  THE  EVE 

seated  herself  oi^  a  projection  beside  the  well. 
Elena  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket:  the  old  woman 
observed  the  gesture,  and  hei*  face,  wrinkled  and 
yellow,  but  once  beautiful,  lighted  up.  "  Thank 
thee,  my  benefactor,  my  dear,"  she  began.  There 
was  no  purse  in  Elena's  pocket,  but  the  old  woman 
still  held  her  hand  outstretched.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  no  money,  granny,"— said  Elena,— 
"  but  here,  take  this,  it  will  be  of  some  use." 

She  gave  her  her  handkerchief. 

*'  O-okh,  my  beauty," — said  the  beggar- 
woman,  "  of  what  use  to  me  is  thy  little  kerchieft 
None,  unless  to  give  to  my  granddaughter  when 
she  marries.  May  the  Lord  reward  thee  for  thji 
kindness!  " 

A  clap  of  thunder  pealed  out. 

"  O  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  muttered  the  beg- 
gar, and  crossed  herself  thrice. — "  But  I  think 
I  've  seen  thee  before," — she  added,  after  a  pause. 
"  Hast  not  thou  given  me  Christ's  alms?  " 

Elena  cast  a  glance  at  the  old  woman,  and 
recognised  her. 

*'  Yes,  granny,"— she  replied.—"  Didst  not 
thou  ask  me  why  I  was  so  sad?  " 

"  Just  so,  my  dear,  just  so.  That  's  how  I 
knew  thee.  And  thou  seemest  to  be  living  in 
affliction  now  also.  Here,  thy  little  handker- 
chief is  damp — with  tears,  of  course.  Okh,  you 
young  girls,  you  all  have  one  grief,  one  great 
woe! 

146 


ON  THE  EVE 


(( 


What  grief,  granny? " 

"  What  grief?  Ekh,  my  good  young  lady, 
thou  canst  not  dissemble  with  me,  an  old  woman. 
For  I  have  been  young  myself,  my  dear,  I  too 
have  passed  through  those  trials.  Yes.  And 
here  's  what  I  will  say  to  thee,  for  thy  kindness: 
if  a  good  man,  not  a  giddy  fellow,  has  fallen  to 
thy  lot,  do  thou  cling  to  him — cling  tighter  than 
death.  If  it  is  to  be,  it  will  be;  if  it  is  not  to  be, 
evidently  such  is  the  will  of  God.  Yes.  Why 
art  thou  surprised  at  me?  I  'm  that  same  for- 
tune-teller. If  thou  wishest,  I  will  carry  away 
all  thy  woe  with  thy  handkerchief!  I  '11  carry  it 
away,  and  that  's  the  end  of  it.  Seest  thou,  the 
rain  is  slackening;  do  thou  wait  a  bit  yet,  but  I 
will  go  on.  It  won't  be  the  first  time  I  've  been 
drenched  by  it.  Now  remember,  my  dear  little 
dove:  there  was  a  grief,  the  grief  has  flowed 
away,  there  is  not  a  trace  of  it.  Lord,  have 
mercy!  " 

The  beggar  rose  from  the  projection,  emerged 
from  the  chapel,  and  went  her  way.  Elena  stared 
after  her  in  amazement.  "  AVhat  does  it  mean?  " 
she  whispered  involuntarily. 

The  rain  descended  in  a  steadily  decreasing 
network,  the  sun  flashed  forth  for  a  moment. 
Elena  was  already  preparing  to  abandon  her 
refuge.  All  at  once,  half  a  score  of  paces  from 
the  chapel,  she  beheld  Insaroff*.  Wrapped  in 
his  cloak,  he  was  walking  along  the  selfsame 

147 


ON  THE  EVE 

road  by  which  Elena  had  come;  he  appeared  to 
be  hastening  homeward. 

She  braced  herself  with  her  hand  on  the  de- 
crepit railing  of  the  little  porch,  and  tried  to  call 
him,  but  her  voice  failed  her.  .  .  .  InsarofF  was 
already  passing  on  without  raising  his  head 

"Dmitry  Nikanorovitch !  " — she  said  at  last. 
InsaroiF  came  to  an  abrupt  halt,  and  glanced 

around At  the  first  moment  he  did  not 

recognise  Elena,  but  he  immediately  advanced 
toward  her. — "  You!  you  here!  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  drew  back,  in  silence,  into  the  chapel.  In- 
sarofF followed  Elena. 

"You  here?" — he  repeated. 

Still  she  said  nothing,  and  merely  gazed  at  him 
with  a  sort  of  long,  soft  glance.  He  dropped 
his  eyes. 

"You  have  come  from  our  house?" — she 
asked  him. 

"  No  .  .  .  not  from  your  house." 

"No?" — repeated  Elena,  and  tried  to  smile. 
— "  Is  that  the  way  you  keep  your  promises?  I 
have  been  expecting  you  all  the  morning." 

"  I  made  no  promise  yesterday,  if  you  remem- 
ber, Elena  Nikolaevna." 

Again  Elena  smiled  faintly,  and  passed  her 
hand  across  her  face.  Both  face  and  hand  were 
very  pale. — "  Evidently,  you  meant  to  go  away 
without  saying  good-bye  to  us?  " 

"  Yes," — said  InsarofF,  surlily  and  dully. 

148 


ON  THE  EVE 

"What?  After  our  acquaintance,  after  those 
conversations,  after  everything.  .  .  .  Conse- 
quently, if  I  had  not  met  you  here  by  chance  " 
(Elena's  voice  began  to  tremble,  and  she  paused 
for  a  moment)  ..."  you  would  have  gone 
away,  and  would  not  have  pressed  my  hand  for 
the  last  time,  and  you  would  not  have  regretted 
it?" 

InsarofF  turned  away. — "  Elena  Nikolaevna, 
please  do  not  talk  like  that.  Even  without  that, 
I  am  not  in  a  cheerful  mood.  Believe  me,  my 
decision  has  cost  me  a  great  effort.  If  you 
knew " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know," — Elena  interrupted 
him,  in  affright, — "  why  you  are  going.  .  .  . 
Evidently,  it  is  necessary.  Evidently,  we  must 
part.  You  would  not  grieve  your  friends  with- 
out cause.  But  do  friends  part  in  this  way?  For 
you  and  I  are  friends,  are  we  not? " 

"  No,"— said  Insaroff. 

"  What? .  .  ."  said  Elena.  Her  cheeks  became 
suffused  with  a  faint  flush. 

"  That  is  precisely  the  reason  why  I  am  going 
away, — that  we  are  not  friends.  Do  not  force 
me  to  say  that  which  I  do  not  wish  to  say,— which 
I  will  not  say." 

"  You  were  frank  with  me  in  former  days,"  ar- 
ticulated Elena,  with  a  tinge  of  reproach. 

"  I  could  be  frank  then,— I  had  nothing  to 
hide;  but  now  .  .  .  ." 

149 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  But  now?  " — asked  Elena. 

"  But  now  ....  But  now  I  must  depart. 
Farewell." 

If,  at  that  moment,  Insaroff  had  raised  his 
eyes  to  Elena,  he  would  have  perceived  that  her 
face  was  growing  brighter  and  brighter,  in  pro- 
portion as  he  himself  grew  more  frowning  and 
lowering;  but  he  stared  persistently  at  the  floor. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Dmitry  Nikanoroviteh," — 
she  began. — "  But,  at  least,  since  we  have  already 
met,  give  me  your  hand  now." 

Insaroff  started  to  extend  his  hand. — *'  No, 
I  cannot  do  that,  either," — he  said,  and  again 
turned  away. 

"  You  cannot? " 

"  I  cannot.  Farewell."  And  he  went  toward 
the  exit  from  the  chapel. 

"  Wait  a  little  longer,"— said  Elena.—"  You 
seem  to  be  afraid  of  me.  But  I  am  braver  than 
you  are," — she  added  with  a  sudden  slight  shiver 
coursing  all  over  her  body. — "  I  can  tell  you  .  .  . 
would  you  like  to  have  me  ?  .  .  .  .  why  you  have 
found  me  here?  Do  you  know  where  I  was 
gomg  f 

Insarofl"  looked  at  Elena  in  amazement. 

"  I  was  going  to  you." 

"Tome?" 

Elena  covered  her  face. — "  You  have  wanted 
to  make  me  say  that  I  love  you," — she  whispered: 
— "  there  now  ....  I  have  said  it." 

150 


ON  THE  EVE 

"Elena!"— cried  Insaroff. 

She  removed  her  hands,  cast  a  glance  at  him, 
and  threw  herself  on  his  breast. 

He  held  her  in  a  close  embrace,  and  remained 
silent.  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  tell  her  that 
he  loved  her.  Elena  could  understand,  from  his 
mere  exclamation,  from  the  instantaneous  trans- 
figuration of  the  whole  man,  from  the  way  in  which 
the  bosom  to  which  she  clung  so  confidingly  rose 
and  fell,  from  the  way  in  which  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  caressed  her  hair,  that  she  was  beloved. 
He  maintained  silence,  and  she  required  no 
words.  "  He  is  here,  he  loves  ....  What  more 
is  needed?  "  The  silence  of  bliss,  the  silence  of  a 
tranquil  harbour,  of  a  goal  attained,  that  heavenly 
silence  which  imparts  even  to  death  itself  both 
meaning  and  beauty,  filled  her  whole  being  with 
its  divine  flood.  She  wished  for  nothing,  because 
she  possessed  everything. — "  Oh,  my  brother,  my 
friend,  my  dear!  " — whispered  her  lips,  and  she 
herself  did  not  know  whose  heart  it  was,  his  or 
hers,  which  beat  so  sweetly  and  melted  in  her 
breast. 

And  he  stood  motionless,  he  held  in  his  strong 
embrace  this  young  life  which  had  surrendered  it- 
self to  him,  he  felt  on  his  breast  this  new,  infi- 
nitely precious  burden:  a  feeling  of  emotion,  a 
feeling  of  inexpressible  gratitude,  shattered  his 
firm  soul  to  dust,  and  tears,  which  he  had  never 

yet  shed,  welled  up  to  his  eyes 

151 


ON  THE  EVE 

But  she  did  not  weep ;  she  merely  kept  reiterat- 
ing: "  Oh,  my  friend,— oh,  my  brother!  " 

"So  thou  wilt  follow  me  everywhere?" — he 
said  to  her,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  still  hold- 
ing her,  as  before,  in  his  embrace,  and  supporting 
her. 

"  Everywhere,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  Where 
thou  art,  there  I  shall  be." 

"  And  thou  art  not  deceiving  thyself,  thou 
knowest  that  thy  parents  will  never  consent  to 
our  marriage? " 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  myself;  I  know  it." 

"  Thou  knowest  that  I  am  poor,  almost  a 
beggar?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That  I  am  not  a  Russian,  that  it  is  not  de- 
creed that  I  shall  dwell  in  Russia,  that  thou  wilt 
be  compelled  to  break  all  thy  ties  with  thy  father- 
land, with  thy  kin?  " 

"  I  know,  I  know." 

"  Thou  knowest,  also,  that  I  have  consecrated 
myself  to  a  difficult  cause,  an  ungrateful  cause, 
that  I  .  .  .  that  we  shall  be  forced  to  undergo 
not  only  dangers,  but  even  privations,— humilia- 
tion, perchance? " 

"  I  know,  I  know  everything  ....  I  love 
thee  I" 

"  That  thou  wilt  be  obliged  to  abandon  all  thy 
habits,— that  yonder,  alone,  among  strangers, 
thou  mayest  be  compelled,  perhaps,  to  toil  .  .  .  ." 

152 


ON  THE  EVE 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  hps. — "  I  love  thee, 
my  darling." 

He  began  passionately  to  kiss  her  slender,  rosy 
hand.  Elena  did  not  remove  it  from  his  lips,  and 
with  a  sort  of  childlike  joy,  with  laughing  curi- 
osity, she  looked  on  while  he  covered  now  the 
hand,  now  its  fingers,  with  kisses.  .  .  . 

All  at  once  she  flushed  scarlet,  and  hid  her  face 
on  his  breast. 

He  raised  her  head  caressingly,  and  gazed  in- 
tently into  her  eyes. — "  Long  live  my  wife,  before 
men  and  before  God!  "  he  said  to  her. 


153 


XIX 

An  hour  later,  Elena,  with  her  hat  on  one  arm, 
her  mantilla  on  the  other,  entered  the  drawing- 
room  of  the  villa.  Her  hair  was  slightly  out  of 
curl,  a  tiny  pink  spot  was  visible  on  each  cheek, 
the  smile  refused  to  depart  from  her  lips,  her 
eyes,  blinking  and  half -shut,  also  smiled.  She 
could  hardly  walk  from  fatigue,  but  this  fatigue 
was  agreeable  to  her,  and  everything  pleased  her. 
Everything  seemed  to  her  fair  and  caressing. 
Uvar  Ivanovitch  was  sitting  near  the  window; 
she  went  up  to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
stretched  herself  a  little,  and  laughed  in  an  in- 
voluntary sort  of  way. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  wanted  to 
kiss  Uvar  Ivanovitch. 

"  Splash,  ker-flop! "  she  said  at  last. 

But  Uvar  Ivanovitch  did  not  move  an  eyelash, 
and  kept  on  staring  in  astonishment  at  Elena. 
She  dropped  her  hat  and  mantilla  on  him. 

"  My  dear  Uvar  Ivanovitch," — she  said, — "  I 
am  sleepy,  I  am  tired," — and  again  she  began  to 
laugh,  and  dropped  into  an  arm-chair  beside  him. 

"  H'm," — shouted  Uvar  Ivanovitch,  and  be- 
gan to  twiddle  his  fingers. 

154 


ON  THE  EVE 

And  Elena  looked  around  her,  and  thought: 
— "  I  must  soon  part  from  all  this  .  .  .  and  it 
is  strange :  I  have  no  fear,  no  doubt,  no  pity.  .  .  . 
No,  I  am  sorry  for  mamma! "  Then  again  the 
chapel  rose  up  before  her,  again  her  voice  rang 
out,  she  felt  his  arms  around  her,  her  heart  was 
glad,  but  stirred  feebly:  the  languor  of  happi- 
ness lay  upon  it.  She  recalled  the  old  beggar- 
woman.  "  She  really  did  carry  away  all  my 
woe," — she  thought.  "  Oh,  how  happy  I  am! 
how  undeserved  it  is !  how  sudden ! "  If  she  had  let 
go  of  herself  in  the  slightest  degree,  she  would 
have  shed  sweet,  interminable  tears.  She  re- 
strained them  only  by  laughing.  Whatever  atti- 
tude she  assumed,  it  seemed  to  her  that  there 
could  be  none  better,  more  easy :  it  was  as  though 
she  were  being  rocked  to  sleep.  All  her  move- 
ments were  slow  and  soft;  what  had  become  of 
her  precipitation,  her  angularity?  Zoya  entered: 
Elena  decided  that  she  had  never  beheld  a  more 
charming  little  face;  Anna  Vasilievna  entered: 
Elena  felt  a  prick  of  compunction,  but  with 
what  tenderness  did  she  embrace  her  kind  mother, 
and  kiss  her  on  the  brow,  near  the  hair,  which  was 
already  beginning  to  turn  grey !  Then  she  betook 
herself  to  her  own  room:  how  everything  smiled 
at  her  there!  With  what  a  sensation  of  shame- 
faced triumph  and  submission  did  she  seat  her- 
self on  her  bed,  where,  three  hours  before,  she  had 
spent  such  bitter  moments !    "  And,  of  course,  I 

155 


ON  THE  EVE 

knew  even  then  that  he  loved  me,"  she  thought, 
— "  yes,  and  before  that  .  .  .  Ai,  no!  no!  that  is 
a  sin.  '  Thou  art  my  wife  .  .  .'  "  she  whispered, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  flung  her- 
self on  her  knees. 

Toward  evening  she  became  more  pensive. 
Sadness  took  possession  of  her  at  the  thought 
that  she  would  not  soon  see  InsaroiF  again.  He 
could  not  remain  with  Berseneff  without  arous- 
ing suspicion,  so  this  is  what  he  and  Elena  had 
decided  upon :  Insaroif  was  to  return  to  Moscow, 
and  come  to  visit  them  a  couple  of  times  before 
the  autmnn;  she,  on  her  side,  had  promised  to 
write  him  letters,  and,  if  possible,  appoint  a 
meeting  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Kiintzovo.  At  tea-time  she  descended  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  found  there  all  her  own  house- 
hold, and  Shiibin,  who  looked  keenly  at  her  as 
soon  as  she  made  her  appearance;  she  wanted  to 
chat  with  him,  in  a  friendly  way,  but,  as  of  old, 
was  afraid  of  his  penetration,  was  afraid  of  her- 
self. It  struck  her  that  not  for  nothing  had  he 
left  her  in  peace  for  more  than  two  weeks.  Ber- 
seneff soon  arrived,  and  transmitted  to  Anna 
Vasilievna  InsarofF's  greeting,  together  with  his 
apologies  for  having  returned  to  Moscow,  with- 
out having  presented  his  respects  to  her.  The 
name  InsarofF  was  uttered,  for  the  first  time  that 
day,  in  Elena's  presence;  she  felt  that  she 
blushed;  she  understood,  at  the  same  time,  that 

15G 


ON  THE  EVE 

it  was  proper  for  her  to  express  her  regret  at  the 
departure  of  so  good  an  acquaintance:  but  she 
could  not  force  herself  to  dissimulate,  and  con- 
tinued to  sit  motionless  and  silent,  while  Anna 
Vasilievna  moaned  and  grieved.  Elena  tried 
to  keep  near  BersenefF:  she  was  not  afraid  of 
him,  although  he  knew  a  part  of  her  secret;  she 
sought  refuge  under  his  wing  from  Shiibin,  who 
continued  to  stare  at  her — not  sneeringly,  but  at- 
tentively. BersenefF,  also,  was  overcome  by  sur- 
prise in  the  course  of  the  evening:  he  had  ex- 
pected to  see  Elena  more  melancholy.  Happily 
for  her,  a  dispute  about  art  arose  between  him 
and  Shiibin — she  moved  away,  and  listened  to 
their  voices  as  though  athwart  a  dream.  Gradu- 
ally, not  only  they,  but  the  whole  room,  every- 
thing which  surrounded  her,  began  to  seem  to  her 
like  a  dream — everything:  the  samovar  on  the 
table,  and  Uvar  Ivanovitch's  short  waistcoat,  and 
Zoya's  smooth  finger-nails,  and  the  portrait  in 
oils  on  the  wall  of  Grand  Duke  Konstantin  Pav- 
lovitch,  everything  retreated,  everything  became 
shrouded  in  a  mist,  everything  ceased  to  exist. 
Only,  she  felt  sorry  for  them  all.  "  What  do  they 
live  for?  "  she  thought. 

"  Art  thou  sleepy,  Lenotchka?  " — ^her  mother 
asked  her.  She  did  not  hear  her  mother's  ques- 
tion. 

"  A  half -just  suggestion,  dost  thou  say?  "... 
These  words,  sharply  uttered  by  Shubin,  sud- 

157 


ON  THE  EVE 

denly  aroused  Elena's  attention.  "  Good  gra- 
cious,"— he  went  on, — "  that  is  what  taste  itself 
consists  of.  A  half -just  suggestion  evokes  de- 
spondency,— that  is  not  according  to  Christian- 
ity; man  is  indifferent  to  the  unjust, — that  is 
stupid,— but  he  feels  vexation  and  impatience 
at  the  half -just.  For  instance,  if  I  were  to 
say  that  Elena  Nikolaevna  is  in  love  with  one 
of  us,  what  sort  of  a  suggestion  would  that 
be,  eh?  " 

"Akh,  Monsieur  Paul," — said  Elena,  "I  would 
like  to  show  you  my  vexation,  but  really  I  cannot. 
I  am  very  tired." 

"  Why  dost  not  thou  go  to  bed?  " — said  Anna 
Vasilievna,  who  always  dozed  in  the  evening  her- 
self, and  therefore  liked  to  send  others  to  bed. 
— "  Bid  me  good-night,  and  go  under  God's  pro- 
tection,— Andrei  Petrovitch  will  excuse  thee." 

Elena  kissed  her  mother,  bowed  to  all,  and  left 
the  room.  Shiibin  escorted  her  to  the  door. — 
"  Elena  Nikolaevna,"  —  he  whispered  to  her 
on  the  way :  "  You  trample  upon  Monsieur 
Paul,  you  walk  pitilessly  over  him,  but  Mon- 
sieur Paul  blesses  you,  and  your  little  feet, 
and  the  shoes  on  your  Httle  feet,  and  the  soles  of 
your  shoes." 

Elena  shrugged  her  shoulders,  unwillingly 
offered  him  her  hand — not  the  one  which  Insa- 
roff  had  kissed — and,  on  reaching  her  room,  she 

158 


ON  THE  EVE 

undressed  at  once,  went  to  bed,  and  fell  asleep. 

Her  slumber  was  profound,  tranquil 

such  as  not  even  children  have;  only  a  convales- 
cent child,  whose  mother  is  sitting  beside  his 
cradle,  gazing  at  him  and  listening  to  his  breath- 
ing, sleeps  in  that  way. 


159 


XX 

"  Come  to  my  room  for  a  minute," — said  Shu- 
bin  to  Berseneff ,  as  soon  as  he  had  bidden  Anna 
Vasilievna  good-night: — "  I  have  something  to 
show  thee." 

Berseneff  went  to  his  room  in  the  wing.  He 
was  surprised  at  the  multitude  of  studies,  statu- 
ettes, and  busts,  enveloped  in  damp  cloths,  and 
set  about  in  all  corners  of  the  room. 

"  I  see  that  thou  art  at  work  in  earnest,"— he 
remarked  to  Shubin. 

"  A  fellow  must  do  something," — replied  the 
latter. — "  If  one  thing  does  n't  succeed,  another 
must  be  tried.  However,  I,  like  a  Corsican,  oc- 
cupy myself  more  with  the  vendetta  than  with 
pure  art.    Treme  Bisanzia!  " 

I  do  not  understand  thee," — said  Berseneff. 
Just  wait.  See  here,  please  to  inspect,  my 
dear  friend  and  benefactor,  my  vengeance  num- 
ber one." 

Shubin  removed  the  wrappings  from  one 
figure,  and  Berseneff  beheld  a  capital  bust  of  In- 
saroff ,  with  an  excellent  resemblance  to  the  orig- 
inal. Shubin  had  seized  the  features  faithfully, 
to  the  very  smallest  detail,  and  had  imparted 

160 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  him   a  magnificent  expression:   honourable, 
noble,  and  bold. 

Berseneff  went  into  raptures. 

"  Why,  this  is  simply  splendid!  " — he  cried. — 
"  I  congratulate  thee.  It  is  fit  for  the  exhibition! 
Why  dost  thou  call  this  a  magnificent  product  of 
revenge? " 

"  Why,  sir,  because  I  intend  to  present  this 
magnificent  product,  as  you  are  pleased  to  ex- 
press it,  to  Elena  Nikolaevna,  on  her  name-day. 
Do  you  understand  this  allegory?  We  are  not 
blind,  we  see  what  goes  on  around  us,  but  we  are 
gentlemen,  my  dear  sir,  and  we  take  our  revenge 
in  a  gentlemanly  way." 

"  And  here," — added  Shubin,  unveiling  an- 
other figure, — "  since  the  artist,  according  to  the 
newest  code  of  aesthetics,  enjoys  the  enviable  right 
of  incarnating  in  his  own  person  all  sorts  of  tur- 
pitudes, elevating  them  to  a  pearl  of  creation, 
so  we,  in  elevating  this  pearl,  number  two,  have 
avenged  ourselves  not  at  all  after  a  gentlemanly 
fashion,  but  simply  en  canaille." 

He  cleverly  pulled  away  the  sheet,  and  there 
presented  itself  to  the  eyes  of  Berseneff  a  statu- 
ette, in  Dantesque  taste,  of  that  same  Insaroff . 
Anything  more  malicious  and  witty  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  imagine.  The  young  Bul- 
garian was  represented  as  a  ram  rearing  on  its 
hind  legs  and  inclining  its  horns  to  butt.  Stupid 
dignity,  passion,  stubbornness,  awkwardness,  lim- 

101 


ON  THE  EVE 

itedness,  were  fairly  stamped  upon  the  physiog- 
nomy of  "  the  spouse  of  thin-legged  sheep,"  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  likeness  was  so  striking, 
so  indubitable,  that  BersenefF  could  not  help  roar- 
ing with  laughter. 

"Well?  Is  it  amusing?  "—said  Shiibin;— 
"  hast  recognised  the  hero?  Dost  thou  advise  me 
to  send  that  to  the  exhibition  also  ?  This,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  shall  present  to  myself  on  my  own  name- 
day Your  High-Born,  permit  me  to  cut 

a  caper!  " 

And  Shubin  gave  three  leaps,  hitting  himself 
behind  with  the  soles  of  his  shoes. 

BersenefF  picked  up  the  sheet  from  the  floor, 
and  threw  it  over  the  statuette. 

"  Okh,  thou  art  magnanimous,"  began  Shubin. 
— "  Who  the  deuce  is  it,  in  history,  who  is  con- 
sidered particularly  magnanimous?  Well,  never 
mind  I  But  now,"— he  went  on,  solemnly  and 
sadly  unwrapping  a  third,  rather  large  mass  of 
clay,—"  thou  shalt  behold  something  which  shall 
prove  to  thee  the  meekness  and  perspicacity  of 
thy  friend.  Thou  shalt  convince  thyself,  once 
more,  how  a  true  artist  feels  the  need  and  the  ben- 
efit of  boxing  his  own  ears.    Behold !  " 

The  sheet  fluttered  in  the  air,  and  Berseneff 
beheld  two  heads,  j)laced  side  by  side  and  close 

together,  as  though  they  had  grown  fast 

He  did  not  immediately  comprehend  the  point; 
but,  on  looking  more  closely,  he  recognised  in  one 
of  them  Annushka,   and  in  the  other  Shubin 

162 


ON  THE  EVE 

himself.  They  were,  however,  caricatures  rather 
than  portraits.  Annushka  was  represented  as  a 
handsome,  plump  girl  with  a  low  brow,  eyes 
swimming  in  fat,  and  a  saucily  upturned  nose. 
Her  large  lips  smiled  brazenly;  her  whole  face 
expressed  sensuality,  heedlessness,  and  audacity 
not  devoid  of  good-nature.  Shiibin  had  depicted 
himself  as  a  gaunt,  lean  reveller,  with  sunken 
cheeks,  feebly  dangling  wisps  of  thin  hair,  a 
senseless  expression  in  his  dim  eyes,  and  a  nose 
sharpened  like  that  of  a  corpse. 

BersenefF  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"  A  pretty  couple,  is  n't  it,  brother?  "—said 
Shubin.— "  Wilt  not  thou  condescend  to  write  an 
appropriate  inscription?  I  have  devised  inscrip- 
tions for  the  first  two  pieces.  Under  the  bust 
will  stand :  '  A  Hero  who  intends  to  save  his 
Fatherland! '—Under  the  statuette:  'Sausage- 
makers,  beware!'  And  under  this  piece— what 
thinkest  thou  of  this?—'  The  future  of  the  artist 
Pavel  Yakovleif  Shubin.'  ....  Is  that  good?  " 

"  Stop,"— returned      BersenefF.—"  Was      it 

worth  while  to  waste  time  on  such "he 

could  not  immediately  hit  upon  a  fitting  word. 

"An  odious  thing,  didst  thou  mean  to  say? 
No,  brother,  pardon  me,  if  anything  is  to  go  to 
the  exhibition,  it  should  be  this  group." 

"  An  odious  thing,  that  's  precisely  what  it  is," 
— repeated  BersenefF. — "  And  why  this  non- 
sense? Thou  hast  not  in  thee  those  pledges  for 
such  a  development  wherewith,  unhappily,  our 

163 


ON  THE  EVE 

artists  are  so  abundantly  gifted.  Thou  hast  sim- 
ply calumniated  thyself." 

"  Dost  thou  think  so?  " — said  Shubin  gloomily. 
— "  If  they  do  not  exist  in  me,  and  if  I  get  inocu- 
lated with  them,  ...  a  certain  person  will  be 
responsible  for  it.  Art  thou  aware," — he  added, 
with  a  tragic  frown, — "  that  I  have  already  tried 
to  drink?" 

"Art  thou  lying?" 

"  I  have  tried— by  God!  I  have,"— returned 
Shubin,  and  suddenly  grinned  and  beamed,— 
"  and  it  tastes  bad,  brother,  it  gets  into  your 
throat,  and  your  head  is  like  a  drum  afterward. 
Even  the  great  Lushtchikin— Kharlampy  Lush- 
tchikin,  the  greatest  funnel  in  Moscow,  and,  ac- 
cording to  others,  the  '  Great-Russian  Funnel  '— 
declared  that  I  should  never  come  to  anything. 
The  bottle  is  nothing  to  me,  according  to  his 
words." 

Berseneff  tried  to  deal  a  blow  at  the  group,  but 
Shubin  withheld  him. — "  Enough,  brother,  don't 
strike;  it  's  good  as  a  lesson,  as  a  scarecrow." 

Berseneif  began  to  laugh. 

"  In  that  case,  all  right,  I  '11  spare  thy  scare- 
crow,"— said  he — "  and  long  live  eternal,  pure 
art!" 

"  Yes,  long  may  it  live!  " — chimed  in  Shubin. 
— "  With  it  good  is  better,  and  bad  is  no  ca- 
lamity!" 

The  friends  shook  hands  warmly,  and  parted. 

164 


XXI 

Elena's  first  sensation,  on  awaking,  was  joyful 
terror.  "Is  it  possible?  Is  it  possible?"  she 
asked  herself,  and  her  heart  swooned  with  hap- 
piness. Memories  surged  in  upon  her  ....  she 
was  submerged  by  them.  Then  again,  that  same 
blissful,  enraptured  silence  overshadowed  her. 
But  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  Elena  was 
gradually  invaded  by  uneasiness,  and  during  the 
days  which  followed  she  felt  weary  and  bored. 
She  knew  now  what  she  wanted,  it  is  true,  but 
that  made  it  none  the  easier  for  her.  That  never- 
to-be-forgotten  meeting  had  wrenched  her  for- 
ever out  of  the  old  rut:  she  no  longer  stood  in 
it,  she  was  far  away,  and  yet  everything  around 
her  went  on  in  its  customary  routine,  everything 
took  its  course,  as  though  nothing  were  changed ; 
the  former  life  moved  on  as  before;  as  formerly, 
Elena's  sympathy  and  co-operation  were  counted 
upon.  She  tried  to  begin  a  letter  to  InsarofF,  but 
even  that  did  not  succeed :  the  words  came  out  on 
the  paper,  not  exactly  dead,  but  false.  She  ended 
her  diary:  underneath  the  last  hne  she  drew  a 
large  dash.  That  was  the  past,  and  with  all  her 
thoughts,  with  all  her  being,  she  had  gone  on  into 

165 


ON  THE  EVE 

the  future.  She  was  ill  at  ease.  To  sit  with  her 
mother,  who  suspected  nothing,  to  listen  to  her, 
to  answer  her — to  talk  with  her — seemed  to  Elena 
a  sort  of  crime ;  she  was  conscious  of  the  presence 
in  herself  of  something  false;  she  grew  agitated, 
although  she  had  nothing  to  blush  for ;  more  than 
once  there  arose  in  her  soul  an  almost  uncon- 
querable desire  to  reveal  everything,  without  re- 
serve, no  matter  what  might  happen  afterward. 
"  Why,"  she  thought,  "  did  not  Dmitry  carry  me 
off  then,  from  the  chapel,  whithersoever  he 
wished?  Did  not  he  tell  me  that  I  am  his  wife 
in  the  sight  of  God?  Why  am  I  here?"  She 
suddenly  began  to  avoid  every  one,  even  Uvar 
Ivanovitch,  who  was  more  amazed  and  wiggled 
his  fingers  more  than  ever.  Nothing  around  her 
seemed  to  her  either  pleasing,  or  nice,  or  even  a 
dream;  like  a  nightmare  it  oppressed  her  breast 
with  an  immovable,  dead  burden :  it  seemed  to  be 
reproaching  her,  and  raging  at  her,  and  wanting 
to  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  ..."  Thou 
art  ours,  nevertheless,"  it  seemed  to  say.  Even 
her  poor  nurslings,  the  persecuted  birds  and 
beasts,  gazed  at  her — at  least,  so  it  seemed  to 
her — distrustfully  and  in  hostile  wise.  She  be- 
came remorseful  and  ashamed  of  her  feelings. 
"  But  this  is  my  home,  all  the  same,"  she  thought; 
"  my  family,  my  native  land.  .  ." — "  No,  it  is 
no  longer  thy  native  land,  it  is  not  thy  family," 
—another  voice  kept  asserting.    Terror  took  pos- 

166 


ON  THE  EVE 

session  of  her,  and  she  was  vexed  at  her  pusilla- 
nimity. The  mischief  was  only  beginning,  and 
she  had  already  lost  patience.  .  .  Was  that  what 
she  had  promised? 

She  did  not  speedily  regain  control  of  herself. 
But  one  week  passed,  then  another.  .  .  .  Elena 
had  recovered  her  composure  somewhat,  and  had 
grown  used  to  her  new  position.  She  wrote  two 
little  notes  to  Insaroif ,  and  carried  them  herself 
to  the  post-office:  not  on  any  account— both  be- 
cause of  bashfulness  and  from  pride — could  she 
have  made  up  her  mind  to  confide  in  her  maid. 
She  had  already  begun  to  expect  him.  .  .  But  in 
his  stead,  one  fine  morning,  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch  made  his  appearance. 


167 


XXII 

No  one  in  the  household  had  ever  yet  heheld  re- 
tired Ensign  of  the  Guards  Stakhoff  so  sour  and, 
at  the  same  time,  so  self-confident  and  pompous 
as  on  that  day.  He  came  into  the  drawing-room 
in  overcoat  and  hat,— came  in  slowly,  planting  his 
legs  w4de  apart,  and  clicking  his  heels ;  he  walked 
up  to  the  mirror,  and  gazed  long  at  himself,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  biting  his  lips  with  calm  severity. 
Anna  Vasilievna  greeted  him  with  outward  ex- 
citement and  inward  joy  (she  never  greeted  him 
otherwise)  ;  he  did  not  even  take  off  his  hat,  did 
not  even  bid  her  good-morning,  and  silently  per- 
mitted Elena  to  kiss  his  chamois-leather  glove. 
Anna  Vasilievna  began  to  question  him  about  his 
course  of  treatment — he  made  her  no  reply ;  Uvar 
Ivanovitch  made  his  appearance, — he  glanced  at 
him  and  said:  "  Ba!  "  As  a  rule,  he  treated  Uvar 
Ivanovitch  coldly  and  condescendingly,  although 
he  recognised  in  him  "  traces  of  the  genuine  Sta- 
khoff blood."  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  almost 
all  Russian  noble  families  are  convinced  of  the 
existence  of  exclusive  race  characteristics,  pecu- 
liar to  them  alone :  more  than  once  it  has  been  our 
lot  to  hear  discussions  "  among  our  own  people  " 
concerning  "  Podsalaskinsky  "  noses,  and  "  Pe- 

168 


ON  THE  EVE 

repryeevsky  "  napes.  Zoya  came  in,  and  made 
a  curtsey  before  Nikolai  Artemievitch.  He 
grunted,  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  ordered 
coffee,  and  only  then  did  he  take  off  his  hat. 
The  coffee  was  brought  to  him;  he  drank  a  cup- 
ful and,  gazing  at  each  person  present  in  turn, 
articulated  through  his  teeth :  "  Soriez,  sil  vous 
plait"  and  turning  to  his  wife,  he  added:  " Et 
vous  J  madame,  restez,  je  vous  prie." 

All  left  the  room,  with  the  exception  of  Anna 
Vasilievna.  Her  head  was  trembling  with  ex- 
citement. The  solemnity  of  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch's  mien  impressed  her.  She  expected  some- 
thing unusual. 

"  What  is  it? "  she  cried,  as  soon  as  the  door 
was  shut. 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  cast  an  indifferent 
glance  at  Anna  Vasilievna. 

"  Nothing  in  particular.  What  do  you  mean 
by  putting  on  the  aspect  of  some  sort  of  a  vic- 
tim? "  he  began,  quite  unnecessarily  pulling 
down  the  corners  of  his  mouth  at  every  word. — 
'*  I  only  wanted  to  warn  you  that  you  will  have  a 
new  guest  at  dinner  to-day." 

"  Who  is  it?  " 

"  Kurnatovsky,  Egor  Andreevitch.  You  do 
not  know  him.     Chief  secretary  in  the  Senate." 

"  Is  he  to  dine  with  us  to-day? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  it  was  merely  for  the  purpose  of  saying 

169 


ON  THE  EVE 

this  to  me  that  you  have  made  every  one  leave  the 
room  i 

Again  Nikolai  Artemievitch  cast  a  glance  at 
Anna  Vasilievna, — this  time  an  ironical  glance. 

"  Does  that  surprise  you?  Wait  a  bit,  before 
you  are  surprised." 

He  relapsed  into  silence.  Anna  Vasilievna 
also  preserved  silence  for  a  while. 

"  I  should  like  .  .  .  ."  she  began  .... 

"  I  know  that  you  have  always  regarded  me  as 
an  '  immoral '  man," — ^began  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch suddenly. 

"I!"  murmured  Anna  Vasilievna,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  And  perhaps  you  are  right.  I  do  not  wish  to 
deny  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  some- 
times given  you  just  cause  for  dissatisfaction  " 
("The  grey  horses!  "  flashed  through  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna's  head), — "although  you  must  confess, 
yourself,  that  with  the  well-known  state  of  your 
constitution  .  .  .  ." 

"  But  I  am  not  blaming  you  in  the  least,  Niko- 
lai Artemievitch." 

""  C'est  possible.  At  any  rate,  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  justifying  myself  to-day.  Time  will  jus- 
tify me.  But  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  assure 
you  that  I  know  my  obligations,  and  am  capable 
also  of  looking  out  ....  for  the  interests  of 
....  the  family  which  has  been  confided  to  my 


care." 


170 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  What  does  all  this  mean?  "  thought  Anna 
Vasilievna.  (She  could  not  know  that,  on  the 
previous  evening,  in  the  English  Club,  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  divan-room,  a  dispute  had  arisen  as  to 
the  lack  of  capacity  on  the  part  of  Russians  to 
make  speeches.  "  Which  of  us  knows  how  to 
talk?  Just  name  some  one?  "  one  of  the  dispu- 
tants had  exclaimed. — "  Why,  here  's  Stakhoff, 
for  instance," — the  other  had  replied,  and  had 
pointed  to  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  who  was  stand- 
ing near  by,  and  who  almost  squeaked  aloud  with 
satisfaction.) 

"  For  example," — pursued  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch,— "  there  's  my  daughter  Elena.  Don't 
you  think  that  it  is  time  for  her  to  walk  with 
firm  tread  in  the  pathway  ...  to  marry,  I  mean 
to  say.  All  these  philosophisings  and  philan- 
thropies are  good  enough  in  their  way,  but  only 
to  a  certain  degree,  only  to  a  certain  age.  It  is 
time  for  her  to  come  out  of  the  clouds,  to  emerge 
from  the  society  of  divers  artists,  scholars,  and 
some  Montenegrins  or  other,  and  do  as  every- 
body else  does." 

"  How  am  I  to  understand  your  words?  "  asked 
Anna  Vasilievna. 

"  Here  now,  be  so  good  as  to  listen  to  me," — 
replied  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  pulling  down  his 
lips  as  before. — "  I  will  tell  you  plainly,  with- 
out circumlocution:  I  have  made  acquaintance 
with — I  have  become  intimate  with — this  young 

171 


ON  THE  EVE 

man,  Mr.  Kurnatovsky,  in  the  hope  of  having 
him  for  my  son-in-law.  I  venture  to  think  that, 
when  you  have  seen  him,  you  will  not  accuse  me 
of  partiality  or  of  precipitancy  of  judgment." 
(Nikolai  Artemievitch  admired  his  own  elo- 
quence as  he  talked.)  "He  is  excellently  edu- 
cated, a  lawyer,  with  fine  manners,  thirty-three 
years  of  age,  chief  secretary,  collegiate  council- 
lor, and  wears  the  order  of  St.  Stanislaus  on  his 
neck.  You  will,  I  hope,  do  me  the  justice  to 
admit  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  peres  de  come- 
die  who  rave  over  rank  alone;  but  you  yourself 
have  told  me  that  Elena  Nikolaevna  likes  active, 
resolute  men:  Egor  Andreevitch  is  the  most 
active  man  in  his  profession;  now,  on  the  other 
hand,  my  daughter  has  a  weakness  for  magnani- 
mous deeds:  so  you  must  know  that  Egor  An- 
dreevitch, just  as  soon  as  he  attained  the  possi- 
bility—you understand  me,  the  possibility— of 
existing  comfortably  on  his  salary,  immediately 
refused,  in  the  interests  of  his  brothers,  to  make 
use  of  the  annual  allowance  assigned  to  him  by 
his  father." 

"  And  who  is  his  father? "  asked  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna. 

"  His  father?  His  father  is  also  a  famous  man 
in  his  way,  of  the  highest  integrity,  un  vrai  sto- 
ique,  a  retired  major,  I  believe,  and  manager 
of  all  the  estates  of  the  Counts  B  .  .  .  ." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Anna  Vasilievna. 

172 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Ah!  weU:  what  does  '  Ah! '  mean?  "  Nikolai 
Artemievitch  caught  her  up. — "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  are  infected  with  prejudices?  " 

"  Why,  I  did  not  say  anything," — began  Anna 
Vasilievna. 

"  Yes,  you  did;  you  said:  '  Ah! '  ...  At  any 
rate,  I  have  considered  it  necessary  to  forewarn 
you  of  my  way  of  thinking,  and  I  venture  to 
opine  ....  I  venture  to  hope  that  Mr.  Kurna- 
tovsky  will  be  received  a  hras  ouverts.  He  's  no 
obscure  Montenegrin." 

"  Of  course;  only,  I  must  summon  Vanka,  the 
cook,  and  order  him  to  add  a  course." 

"  You  understand  that  I  do  not  enter  into 
that," — said  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  rising  and 
putting  on  his  hat,  and  whistling  as  he  went  (he 
had  heard  some  one  say  that  it  is  proper  to  whistle 
only  in  one's  own  house  in  the  country  and  in  the 
military-riding-school),  he  strode  off  for  a  stroll 
in  the  garden.  Shubin  peeped  at  him  from  the 
little  window  of  his  wing,  and  silently  thrust  out 
his  tongue  at  him. 

At  ten  minutes  to  four,  a  posting-carriage 
drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  Stakhoffs'  villa,  and 
a  man  still  young,  of  comely  aspect,  simply  and 
elegantly  attired,  alighted  from  it  and  ordered 
that  his  arrival  be  announced.  He  was  Egor 
Andreevitch  Kurnatovsky. 

This,  among  other  things,  was  what  Elena 
wrote  to  Insaroff  on  the  following  day: 

173 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Congratulate  me,  dear  Dmitry,  I  have  a  suitor.  He 
dined  with  us  last  night ;  papa  made  his  acquaintance  at 
the  English  Club,  I  believe,  and  invited  him.  Of  course, 
he  did  not  come  as  a  suitor  yesterday.  But  kind  mamma, 
to  whom  papa  had  confided  his  hopes,  whispered  in  my 
ear  what  sort  of  a  visitor  he  was.  His  name  Is  Egor 
Andreevitch  Kurnatovsky;  he  serves  as  chief  secretary 
in  the  Senate.  I  will  first  describe  to  thee  his  personal 
appearance.  He  is  short  of  stature,  not  so  tall  as  thou 
art,  well  built ;  his  features  are  regular,  his  hair  is  closely 
cut,  he  wears  large  side-whiskers.  His  eyes  are  small 
(like  thine),  brown,  alert;  his  lips  flat,  broad;  in  his  eyes 
and  on  his  lips  is  a  perpetual  smile,  a  sort  of  official 
smile,  as  though  it  were  his  duty.  His  manner  is  very 
simple,  he  speaks  distinctly,  and  everything  about  him 
is  distinct:  he  walks,  laughs,  eats,  as  though  he  were 
doing  business.  '  How  she  has  studied  him ! '  thou  art 
thinking,  perchance,  at  this  moment.  Yes ;  in  order  that 
I  might  describe  him  to  thee.  And  then,  how  can  one 
help  studying  one's  suitor.  There  is  something  iron 
about  him  .  .  .  and  something  dull  and  empty  at  the 
same  time — and  honourable;  they  say  that  he  really  is 
very  honourable.  At  table,  he  sat  next  to  me,  and  op- 
posite sat  Shiibin.  At  first  the  conversation  turned  on 
certain  commercial  enterprises:  they  say  he  is  versed  in 
such  things,  and  came  near  throwing  up  his  position 
in  order  to  take  charge  of  a  large  factory.  He  made  a 
mistake  in  not  doing  it !  Then  Shiibin  began  to  talk  about 
the  theatre;  Mr.  Kurnatovsky  declared — and,  I  must 
admit,  without  any  false  modesty — that  he  understood 
nothing  about  art.  That  reminded  me  of  thee  .  .  .  but 
I  thought :  '  No,  after  all,  Dmitry  and  I  fail  to  under- 

174 


ON  THE  EVE 

stand  art  in  another  way.'  This  man  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  say :  '  I  do  not  understand  it,  and  it  is  unnecessary, 
but  it  is  permitted  in  a  well-ordered  realm.'  Toward 
Petersburg,  and  the  comme  il  faut,  however,  he  is  rather 
indifferent:  he  once  even  called  himself  a  proletarian. 
*  I 'm  a  common  labourer,'  he  said.  I  thought:  'If 
Dmitry  had  said  that,  it  would  not  have  pleased  me,  but 
let  this  man  have  his  say !  let  him  brag ! '  He  was  very 
courteous  toward  me ;  but  it  seemed  to  me,  all  the  while, 
as  though  a  very,  very  condescending  superior  official 
were  talking  to  me.  When  he  wishes  to  praise  any  one, 
he  says  that  So-and-so  has  principles, — that  is  his  fa- 
vourite expression.  He  must  be  self-confident,  industri- 
ous, capable  of  self-sacrifice  (thou  seest :  I  am  impartial), 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  matter  of  sacrificing  his  advantages, 
but  he  is  a  great  despot.  It  would  be  a  calamity  to 
fall  into  his  power !  After  dinner,  they  talked  about 
bribes  .... 

"  '  I  can  understand,'  said  he,  '  that,  in  many  cases, 
the  man  who  takes  a  bribe  is  not  to  blame :  he  could  not 
act  otherwise.  But,  nevertheless,  if  he  is  caught  he  must 
be  crushed.' 

*'  I  exclaimed : — '  Crush   an  innocent  man ! ' 

"  '  Yes,  for  the  sake  of  the  principle.' 

"  '  Which  one  ?  '  inquired  Shubin.  Kurnatovsky  was 
not  exactly  disconcerted,  nor  yet  precisely  astonished, 
and  said :  '  There  's  no  use  in  explaining  it.' 

"  Papa,  who  appears  to  worship  him,  chimed  in,  and 
said  that,  of  course,  it  was  useless,  and,  to  my  vexation, 
that  conversation  came  to  an  end.  In  the  evening,  Ber- 
senefF  came,  and  got  into  a  frightful  wrangle  with  him. 
Never  before  have  I  beheld  our  kind  Andrei  Petrovitch 

175 


ON  THE  EVE 

in  such  a  state  of  excitement.  Mr.  Kurnatovsky  did  not 
in  the  least  deny  the  benefits  of  science,  universities, 
and  so  forth  .  .  .  yet  I  understood  Andrei  Petrovitch's 
wrath.  He  looks  on  all  that  as  a  sort  of  gymnastics. 
Shubin  approached  me  after  dinner,  and  said : '  This  man, 
and  a  certain  other  '  (he  can  never  utter  your  name) 
*  are  both  practical  persons,  but  behold,  what  a  difference ! 
There  is  the  genuine,  living  ideal,  furnished  by  life ;  while 
here  there  is  not  even  the  sense  of  duty,  but  simply 
official  honesty  and  activity  without  underpinning.' — 
Shubin  is  clever,  and  I  remembered  his  words  for  thee; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  what  is  there  in  common  between  you.'' 
Thou  believest,  and  the  other  man  does  not,  because  it  is 
impossible  to  believe  in  one^s  self  alone. 

"  It  was  late  when  he  went  away,  but  mamma  contrived 
to  inform  me  that  he  was  pleased  with  me,  that  papa 
was  in  raptures  ....  I  wonder  if  he  has  not  already 
said  of  me  that  I  '  have  principles  '  ?  And  I  came  near 
answering  mamma,  that  I  was  very  sorry,  but  that  I 
already  had  a  husband.  Why  is  it  that  papa  dislikes  thee 
so  much.?  Mamma  might  have  managed,  somehow  or 
other  .... 

"  Oh,  my  dear  one !  I  have  described  this  gentleman 
to  thee  so  circumstantially  in  order  to  stifle  my  anguish. 
I  cannot  live  without  thee, — I  see  thee,  hear  thee  con- 
stantly ....  I  await  thee,  only  not  in  our  house,  as 
thou  hast  wished, — imagine,  how  painful  and  awkward 
it  would  be  for  us! — but,  thou  knowest,  where  I  wrote 
thee,  in  that  grove  .  .  .  Oh,  my  darling!  How  I  love 
thee!" 


176 


XXIII 

Theee  weeks  after  Kurnatovsky's  first  visit, 
Anna  Vasilievna,  to  the  great  joy  of  Elena,  re- 
moved to  Moscow,  to  her  great  wooden  house 
near  the  Pretchistenka, — a  house  with  columns, 
white  lyres  and  wreaths  over  every  window,  a 
second  partial  storey,  servants'  quarters,  a  front 
garden,  and  a  huge,  verdant  courtyard  with  a 
well  in  the  yard  and  dog-kennels  beside  the  well. 
Anna  Vasilievna  had  never  returned  from  her 
country  villa  so  early,  but  that  year  there  was 
an  epidemic  of  influenza  when  the  first  frosts  of 
autumn  set  in ;  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  on  his  side, 
having  finished  his  course  of  treatment,  had  be- 
gun to  yearn  for  his  wife;  moreover,  Augustina 
Christianovna  had  gone  away  to  visit  her  cousin 
in  Revel:  some  foreign  family  or  other  had 
arrived  in  Moscow,  and  was  exhibiting  plastic 
poses,  des  poses  plastiques,  the  description 
of  which,  in  the  Moscow  News,  had  greatly 
excited  the  curiosity  of  Anna  Vasilievna.  In 
short,  further  sojourn  in  the  villa  was  incon- 
venient, and  even,  as  Nikolai  Artemievitch 
phrased  it,  incompatible  with  the  execution  of  his 

177 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  previous  plans."  The  last  two  weeks  seemed 
very  long  to  Elena.  Kurnatovsky  came  a  couple 
of  times,  on  Sundays :  on  other  days  he  was  occu- 
pied. He  came  specifically  for  Elena,  but  talked 
more  with  Zoya,  who  liked  him  very  much. 
^'  Das  ist  ein  Mannf  she  thought  to  herself,  as 
she  gazed  at  his  swarthy,  manly  countenance, 
and  listened  to  his  self-confident,  condescending 
speeches.  In  her  opinion,  no  one  had  such  a  won- 
derfully fine  voice,  no  one  understood  so  wtII  how 
to  utter:  "  I  had  the  hon-n-nour!  "  or,  "  I  am  very 
glad."  InsarofF  did  not  come  to  the  Stakhoffs, 
but  Elena  saw  him  once,  by  stealth,  in  the  little 
grove,  close  to  the  Moscow  River,  where  she  had 
appointed  the  meeting.  They  barely  managed 
to  exchange  a  few  words  with  each  other.  Shu- 
bin  returned  to  Moscow  in  company  with  Anna 
Vasilievna;  BersenefF,  a  few  days  later. 

InsarofF  was  sitting  in  his  chamber,  and  for 
the  third  time  re-reading  letters  which  had  been 
brought  to  Iiim  from  Bulgaria  by  private  hand: 
they  were  afraid  to  send  them  by  the  post.  He 
was  greatty  startled  by  them.  Events  were  devel- 
oping swiftly  in  the  East:  the  occupation  of  the 
principality  by  the  Russian  army  had  agitated 
all  minds;  a  thunder-storm  was  bre^\ang,  the 
breath  of  war,  close  at  hand,  inevitable,  was  al- 
ready perceptible.  The  conflagration  was  in- 
creasing round  about,  and  no  one  could  foresee 
how  far  it  would  reach,  where  it  would  stop; 

178 


ON  THE  EVE 

ancient  griefs,  long-cherished  hopes — ever^iJiing 
was  beginning  to  stir.  InsarofF's  heart  beat  vio- 
lently: and  his  hopes  also  had  been  reahzed. 
"But  is  it  not  too  early?  is  it  not  futile?"  he 
thought,  as  he  clenched  his  hands.  "  We  are  not 
ready  yet.— But  so  be  it!  I  must  go." 

There  was  a  faint  rattling  outside  the  door, 
it  opened  swiftly — and  Elena  entered  the  room. 

InsarofF  began  to  tremble  all  over,  rushed  to 
her,  fell  on  his  knees  before  her,  embraced  her 
waist,  and  pressed  his  head  close  to  it. 

"  Thou  didst  not  expect  me?  " — she  said,  pant- 
ing for  breath.  ( She  had  run  swiftly  up-stairs. ) 
"  My  darling!  my  darling! — So  this  is  where  thou 
livest?  I  found  thee  quickly.  The  daughter  of 
thy  landlady  showed  me  the  way.  We  came  to 
town  day  before  yesterday.  I  wanted  to  write 
to  thee,  but  thought  it  would  be  better  to  come 
myself.  I  have  come  to  thee  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.    Rise,  lock  the  door." 

He  rose,  hurriedly  locked  the  door,  returned  to 
her,  and  took  her  hands.  He  could  not  speak, 
he  was  suffocating  with  joy.    She  gazed  into  his 

eyes  with  a  smile There  was  so  much 

happiness  in  them  ....  She  was  abashed. 

*'  Wait," — she  said  affectionately,  drawing  her 
hands  away  from  him. 

She  untied  the  ribbons  of  her  hat,  flung  it 
aside,  dropped  the  mantilla  from  her  shoulders, 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  seated  herself  on  the  small, 

179 


ON  THE  EVE 

ancient  divan.  Insaroff  did  not  stir,  and  gazed 
at  her  as  though  enchanted. 

"  Sit  down," — said  she,  without  raising  her 
eyes  to  his,  and  pointing  to  a  place  by  her  side. 

Insaroff  seated  himself,  only  not  on  the  divan, 
but  on  the  floor  at  her  feet. 

"  Here,  take  off  my  gloves," — she  said,  in  a 
wavering  voice.  She  was  beginning  to  feel 
alarmed. 

He  set  to  work  first  to  unbutton,  then  to  draw 
off  one  glove,  pulled  it  half-way  off,  and  glued 
his  lips  hungrily  to  the  slender,  delicate  wrist 
which  shone  white  beneath  it. 

Elena  trembled,  and  tried  to  push  him  away 
with  the  other  hand,— he  began  to  kiss  the  other 
hand.  Elena  drew  it  toward  her,  he  threw  back 
his  head,  she  looked  into  his  face,  bent  forward — 
and  their  lips  melted  together  .... 

A  moment  passed  ....  She  tore  herself  away, 
rose,  whispered,  "  No,  no,"  and  walked  swiftly  to 
the  writing-table. 

"  I  am  the  mistress  of  the  house,  here,  so  thou 
must  have  no  secrets  from  me,"— she  said,  en- 
deavouring to  appear  at  her  ease,  and  standing 
with  her  back  toward  him.—"  What  a  lot  of  pa- 
pers!    What  letters  are  these?" 

Insaroff  frowned.  —  "  These  letters?  "  —  he 
said,  rising  from  the  floor.—"  Thou  may  est  read 
them." 

Elena  turned  them  over  in  her  hand.— "There 

180 


ON  THE  EVE 

are  so  many  of  them,  and  they  are  written  in  such 
fine  script,  and  I  must  go  away  directly  ....  I 
care  nothing  for  them!  They  are  not  from  my 
rival?  .  .  .  Why,  they  are  not  in  Russian," — she 
added,  as  she  looked  over  the  thin  sheets. 

InsarofF  approached  her,  and  touched  her 
waist.  She  suddenly  turned  toward  him,  smiled 
brightly  at  him,  and  leaned  on  his  shoulder. 

"  These  letters  are  from  Bulgaria,  Elena:  my 
friends  write  me,  they  summon  me." 

"Now?   Thither?" 

"  Yes  ....  now.  There  is  still  time,  it  is 
still  possible  to  pass  through." 

Suddenly  she  flung  both  arms  about  his  neck. 
— "  Thou  wilt  take  me  with  thee,  wilt  thou  not?  " 

He  pressed  her  to  his  heart. — "  O,  my  dear 
girl,  O  my  heroine,  how  hast  thou  uttered  that 
word !  But  would  not  it  be  a  sin,  would  not  it  be 
madness  on  my  part,  for  me,  a  homeless,  solitary 
man,  to  carry  thee  away  with  me?  .  .  .  And  to 
what  a  place,  moreover!  " 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  mouth.— "  Hush-sh! 
...  or  I  shall  get  angry,  and  never  come  to  see 
thee  again.  Is  not  everything  settled,  is  not 
everything  finished  between  us?  Am  not  I  thy 
wife?     Does  a  wife  part  from  her  husband?" 

"  Wives  do  not  go  to  war," — he  said,  with  a 
half -melancholy  smile. 

"  Yes,  when  they  can  stay  behind.  But  can 
I  remain  here? " 

181 


ON  THE  EVE 

"Elena,  thou  art  an  angel!  .  .  .  But  reflect, 
perhaps  I  shall  be  forced  to  leave  Moscow  .... 
within  a  fortnight.  I  can  no  longer  think  of  uni- 
versity lectures  or  of  completing  my  work." 

"What  of  that?"  interrupted  Elena.— "Thou 
must  go  away  soon?  Why,  if  thou  wishest  it,  I 
will  remain  with  thee  now,  this  very  moment,  for- 
ever with  thee,  and  I  will  not  return  home, — wilt 
thou  have  it  so  ?    Let  us  set  off  at  once,  shall  we  ?  " 

InsarofF  clasped  her  in  his  arms  with  re- 
doubled power. — "  May  God  punish  me,"  he 
cried, — "  if  I  am  doing  an  evil  deed!  From  this 
day  forth,  we  are  united  forever! " 

"  Am  I  to  remain?  " — asked  Elena. 

"  No,  my  pure  girl ;  no,  my  treasure.  To-day 
thou  art  to  return  home,  but  hold  thyself  in  readi- 
ness. This  is  an  affair  which  cannot  be  executed 
at  once;  it  must  be  well  thought  out.  Money 
is  needed,  a  passport " 

"I  have  money,"— interrupted  Elena:  "eighty 
rubles." 

"  Well,  that  is  not  much," — remarked  Insa- 
roff : — "  but  everything  is  useful." 

"But  I  can  get  more,  I  can  borrow,  I  can  ask 
mamma  ....  No,  I  will  not  ask  her  ....  But 
I  can  sell  my  watch  ....  I  have  earrings,  two 
bracelets,  .  .  .  lace." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  money,  Elena ;  the 
passport,  thy  passport,  what  are  we  to  do  about 
that? " 

182 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Yes,  what  are  we  to  do  about  that?  But  is  a 
passport  indispensably  necessary? " 

"  Yes." 

Elena  burst  out  laughing. — "  What  an  idea 
has  occurred  to  me !  I  remember,  when  I  was  still 
a  little  girl,  ....  a  chambermaid  left  us.  She 
was  caught  and  forgiven;  she  Hved  a  long  time 
with  us ;  .  .  .  yet  every  one  called  her  '  Tatyana 
the  Runaway.'  I  did  not  think,  then,  that  per- 
haps I  should  be  a  runaway  also,  like  her." 

"  Art  not  thou  ashamed  of  thyself,  Elena! " 

"Why?  Of  course,  it  is  better  to  go  with  a 
passport.    But  if  that  is  impossible  .  .  ." 

"  We  will  arrange  all  that  hereafter,  hereafter. 
Wait,"— said  InsarofF.— "Only  give  me  a  chance 
to  look  about  me,  to  think  it  over.  We  will  dis- 
cuss it  all  together,  in  proper  fashion.  And  I 
have  money." 

Elena  pushed  back  with  her  hand  the  hair 
which  had  fallen  over  his  brow.—"  Oh,  Dmitry! 
won't  it  be  jolly  to  go  away  together?  " 

"  Yes," — said  InsarofF:  "  and  yonder,  whither 
we  are  going  .  .  .  ." 

"Well?"— interposed  Elena:  "will  it  not  be 
jolly  to  die  together?  but  no,  why  should  we  die? 
we  shall  live,  we  are  young.  How  old  art  thou? 
Twenty-six?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  am  twenty.  We  have  a  great  deal  of 
time  ahead  of  us.    All!  didst  thou  intend  to  run 

183 


ON  THE  EVE 

away  from  me?  Thou  didst  not  want  Russian 
love,  thou  Bulgarian  !  Let  us  see  now,  how  thou 
wilt  get  rid  of  me !  But  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  us,  if  I  had  not  come  to  thee?" 

"Elena,  thou  knowest  what  made  me  go  away." 
"I  know:  thou  hadst  fallen  in  love,  and  wert 
frightened.    But  is  it  possible  that  thou  didst  not 
suspect  that  thou  wert  beloved  ?  " 

"  I  swear  by  my  honour,  Elena,  I  did  not." 

She  gave  him  a  swift  and  unexpected  kiss. — 

*'  That 's  why  I  love  thee.    And  now,  good-bye." 

"  Canst  not  thou  remain  longer?  "  asked  In- 

saroff. 

"  No,  my  darling.  Dost  thou  think  that  it  was 
easy  for  me  to  get  away  alone  ?  The  quarter  of 
an  hour  is  long  past." — She  put  on  her  mantilla 
and  hat. — "  And  do  thou  come  to  us  to-morrow 
evening.  No,  the  day  after  to-morrow.  It  will 
be  constrained,  tiresome,  but  there  is  no  help  for 
it:  at  least,  we  shall  see  each  other.  Good-bye. 
Let  me  go." — He  embraced  her  for  the  last  time. 
— "  Ai !  look,  thou  hast  broken  my  chain.  Oh, 
how  awkward  !  Well,  never  mind.  So  much  the 
better.  I  will  pass  along  the  Smiths'  Bridge, 
and  leave  it  to  be  repaired.  If  I  am  asked,  I  shall 
say  that  I  have  been  to  the  Smiths'  Bridge."  ^ 
— She  grasped  the  door-handle. — *'  By  the  way, 
I  forgot  to  tell  thee :  Monsieur  Kurnatovsky  will, 
in  all  probability,  propose  to  me  in  a  few  days. 

•  The  fashionable  shopping  thoroughfare  in  Moscow. — Translatob. 

184 


ON  THE  EVE 

But  I  shall  do  .  .  .  this  ...  to  him." — She 
placed  the  thumb  of  her  left  hand  to  the  tip  of 
her  nose,  and  flourished  the  rest  of  her  fingers 
in  the  air. — "  Good-bye.  Until  we  meet  again. 
Now  I  know  the  way  ....  But  do  not  waste 
time " 

Elena  opened  the  door  a  little  way,  listened, 
turned  toward  Insaroff*,  nodded  her  head,  and 
flew  out  of  the  room. 

For  a  minute,  Insaroff  stood  in  front  of  the 
closed  door,  and  listened  also.  The  door  below, 
opening  on  the  courtyard,  slammed.  He  went 
to  the  divan,  sat  down,  and  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  hand.  Nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  happened 
with  him  before. — "  How  have  I  deserved  this 
love?" — he  thought. — "Is  it  not  a  dream?" 

But  a  faint  odour  of  mignonette  which  Elena 
had  left  behind  her  in  his  poor,  dark,  little  room 
reminded  him  of  her  visit.  In  company  with  it, 
there  seemed  to  linger  still  in  the  air  the  accents 
of  a  youthful  voice,  the  sound  of  light  young 
footsteps,  and  the  warmth  and  freshness  of  a 
young,  virgin  body. 


185 


XXIV 

Insaroff  decided  to  wait  for  more  decisive  news, 
and  began  to  make  preparations  for  departure. 
It  was  a  very  difficult  matter.  So  far  as  he  him- 
self was  concerned,  no  obstacles  awaited  him:  all 
he  had  to  do  was  to  ask  for  his  passport, — but 
what  was  he  to  do  about  Elena?  It  was  not  pos- 
sible to  obtain  a  passport  for  her  in  a  legal  man- 
ner. Marry  her  in  secret,  and  then  present  him- 
self with  her  before  her  parents?  ..."  Then 
they  would  let  us  go," — he  thought.  "  But  what 
if  they  did  not?  We  shall  go,  all  the  same. 
But  if  they  enter  complaint  ,  .  .  if  .  .  .  No,  it  will 
be  better  to  obtain  a  passport,  in  some  way." 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  take  counsel  (of 
course,  without  mentioning  any  names)  with  one 
of  his  acquaintances,  a  retired — or,  rather,  a  dis- 
charged—procurator, an  experienced,  clever  old 
fellow  in  the  line  of  secret  affairs.  This  re- 
spected man  did  not  live  near  by:  InsarofF  jogged 
along  slowly,  for  a  whole  hour,  in  a  wretched  cab, 
to  him,  and  did  not  find  him  at  home,  to  boot ;  and 
on  the  way  back,  he  got  drenched  to  the  marrow, 
thanks  to  a  heavy  shower  which  suddenly  came 
up.  On  the  following  morning,  InsarofF,  in  spite 
of  a  decidedly  violent  headache,  again  wended  his 

186 


ON  THE  EVE 

way  to  the  retired  procurator.  The  ex-procura- 
tor listened  to  him  attentively,  taking  snufF  out 
of  a  snufF-box  adorned  with  the  picture  of  a  full- 
busted  nymph;  and  casting  sidelong  glances  at 
his  visitor  with  his  cunning  little  eyes,  which  also 
were  snufF-coloured, — listened,  and  demanded 
"  more  circumstantiality  in  the  exposition  of  the 
facts";  and  observing  that  InsarofF  entered  un- 
willingly into  details  (he  had  come  to  him  much 
against  his  will),  he  confined  himself  to  the 
advice  to  arm  himself,  first  of  all,  with  "  cash," 
and  asked  him  to  call  again,  "when,"  he  added,  in- 
haling snuflF  over  his  open  snuff-box,  "  your  con- 
fidence shall  have  increased,  and  your  distrust 
shall  have  decreased  "  (he  pronounced  his  o's 
broadly/  "  But  a  passport,"  he  went  on,  as 
though  to  himself,  "  is  a  work  of — man's  hands; 
you  are  travelling,  for  instance :  who  knows  whe- 
ther you  are  Marya  Bredikhin,  or  Karolina  Vo- 
gelmayer? "  A  feeling  of  disgust  stirred  in  In- 
saroff,  but  he  thanked  the  procurator,  and  prom- 
ised to  return  in  a  few  days. 

That  evening  he  went  to  the  Stakhoffs.  Anna 
Vasilievna  received  him  caressingly,  reproached 
him  for  having  completely  forgotten  them,  and, 
thinking  him   pale,   inquired   about  his   health; 

^  A  peculiarity  of  the  clergy,  and  of  those  who  have  received  their 
education  in  ecclesiastical  seminaries,  which  are  open  also  to  those 
who  do  not  intend  to  enter  the  priesthood,  for  a  general  education. 
The  Old  Church  Slavonic,  used  in  the  services  of  the  Church,  requires 
that  pronunciation.  The  o  is  also  pronounced  thus  in  certain  dis- 
tricts.— TSANSLATOB. 

187 


ON  THE  EVE 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  did  not  speak  a  word  to 
him,  but  merely  looked  at  him  with  a  pensively- 
careless  curiosity ;  Shubin  treated  him  coldly,  but 
Elena  amazed  him.  She  was  expecting  him ;  she 
had  put  on  the  gown  which  she  had  worn  on  the 
day  of  their  first  meeting  in  the  chapel;  but  she 
greeted  him  with  so  much  composure,  she  was 
so  amiable  and  unconcernedly  gay,  that,  to  look 
at  her,  no  one  would  have  thought  that  the  fate 
of  that  young  girl  was  already  settled,  and  that 
the  mere  secret  consciousness  of  happy  love  im- 
parted animation  to  her  features,  lightness  and 
charm  to  all  her  movements.  She  poured  tea,  in 
company  with  Zoya,  jested,  chattered;  she  knew 
that  Shubin  would  watch  her,  that  Insaroff  would 
be  incapable  of  donning  a  mask,  would  be  incapa- 
ble of  feigning  indifference,  and  she  had  armed 
herself  in  advance.  She  was  not  mistaken:  Shu- 
bin never  took  his  eyes  from  her,  and  InsarofF  was 
extremely  taciturn  and  gloomy  throughout  the 
evening.  Elena  felt  so  happy,  that  she  took  it 
into  her  head  to  tease  him. 

"Well,  how  goes  it?" — she  suddenly  asked 
him: — "  is  your  plan  progressing?  " 

InsarofF  was  disconcerted. 

"What  plan?  "-he  said. 

"  Why,  have  you  forgotten? " — she  replied, 
laughing  in  his  face:  he  alone  could  understand 
the  meaning  of  that  happy  laugh: — "  your  selec- 
tions from  Bulgarian  authors  for  Russians?  " 

188 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Quelle  bourde! "  muttered  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch,  through  his  teeth. 

Zoya  seated  herself  at  the  piano.  Elena 
shrugged  her  shoulders  almost  imperceptibly,  and 
indicated  the  door  to  InsarofF  with  her  eyes,  as 
though  sending  him  home.  Then  she  touched  the 
table  twice  with  her  finger,  making  a  pause  be- 
tween, and  looked  at  him.  He  understood  that 
she  was  appointing  a  meeting  two  days  hence,  and 
she  smiled  swiftly  when  she  perceived  that  he 
understood  her.  Insaroff  rose,  and  began  to  take 
leave :  he  felt  ill.  Kurnatovsky  made  his  appear- 
ance. Nikolai  Artemievitch  sprang  to  his  feet, 
raised  his  right  hand  above  his  head,  and  softly 
lowered  it  into  the  palm  of  the  chief  secretary. 
Insaroff  tarried  a  few  moments  longer,  in  order 
to  have  a  look  at  his  rival.  Elena  nodded  her  head 
stealthily,  slyly;  the  master  of  the  house  did  not 
consider  it  necessary  to  introduce  them  to  each 
other;  and  InsarofF  went  away,  after  having  ex- 
changed a  final  glance  with  Elena.  Shiibin  pon- 
dered and  pondered — and  argued  vehemently 
with  Kurnatovsky  over  a  juridical  question  which 
he  knew  nothing  about. 

Insaroff  did  not  sleep  all  night,  and  in  the 
morning  felt  ill ;  but  he  occupied  himself  with  re- 
ducing his  papers  to  order,  and  with  writing  let- 
ters, but  his  head  was  heavy  and  confused,  some- 
how. By  dinner-time  he  was  in  a  fever :  he  could 
eat  nothing.     The  fever  augmented  rapidly  to- 

189 


ON  THE  EVE 

ward  evening;  an  aching  pain  made  its  appear- 
ance in  all  his  limbs,  and  he  had  a  torturing  head- 
ache. InsarofF  lay  down  on  the  same  little  divan 
where  Elena  had  so  recently  sat;  he  thought,  "  I 
am  rightly  punished.  Why  did  I  betake  myself 
to  that  old  scoundrel?  "  and  tried  to  get  to  sleep 

But  the  malady  held  him  in  its  grasp.    His 

veins  began  to  throb  with  fearful  violence,  his 
blood  blazed  with  sultry  heat,  his  thoughts  circled 
round  and  round  like  birds.  He  became  uncon- 
scious. Like  a  man  who  has  been  crushed,  he  lay 
prone,  and,  suddenly,  it  seemed  to  him  that  some 
one  was  softly  laughing  and  whispering  over  him. 
With  an  effort  he  opened  his  eyes ;  the  light  of  the 
candle,  which  needed  snuffling,  cut  them  like  a 
knife  ....  What  was  this  ?  The  old  procurator 
was  standing  before  him  in  a  dressing-gown  of 
figured  Oriental  stuff,  with  a  bandana  handker- 
chief, as  he  had  seen  him  on  the  preceding  day 
.  .  .  .  "  Karolina  Vogelmayer,"  uttered  the  tooth- 
less mouth.  As  InsarofF  gazed,  the  old  man 
broadened  out,  swelled,  grew,  and  now  he  was 
no  longer  a  man  but  a  tree  ....  InsarofF  must 
climb  up  its  branches.  He  got  caught,  fell 
breast  downward  on  a  sharp  stone,  and  Karolina 
Vogelmayer  squatted  on  her  heels,  in  the  shape  of 
a  female  peddler,  and  hsped:  "Patties,  patties, 
patties,"— and  then  blood  flowed,  and  swords 
gleamed  intolerably  .  .  .  .  "  Elena!  "—and  every- 
thing vanished  in  a  crimson  chaos. 

190 


XXV 

"  Some  one  has  come  to  you,  I  don't  know  what 
he  is, — a  locksmith,  or  something  of  that  sort, 
seemingly,"  said  his  servant  to  BersenefF,  on  the 
following  evening: — the  man  was  distinguished 
for  his  stern  treatment  of  his  master,  and  for  a 
sceptical  turn  of  mind, — "  he  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Call  him  in," — said  BersenefF. 

The  "  locksmith  "  entered.  BersenefF  recog- 
nised in  him  the  tailor,  the  landlord  of  the  lodg- 
ings where  InsarofF  lived. 

"  What  dost  thou  want?  "  he  asked  him. 

"  I  have  come  to  your  grace," — began  the  tailor, 
slowly  shifting  from  foot  to  foot,  and  at  times 
flourishing  his  right  hand,  with  the  last  three 
fingers  done  up  in  a  bandage.—"  Our  lodger, 
whoever  he  is,  is  very  ill." 

"  InsarofF? " 

"  Exactly  so, — our  lodger.  I  don't  know,  but 
yesterday  he  was  on  his  feet  from  early  morning ; 
in  the  evening,  he  only  asked  for  a  drink,  and 
my  housewife  carried  water  to  him;  but  in  the 
night  he  began  to  be  delirious,  we  could  hear  it 
through  the  partition ;  and  this  morning  he  could 
not  speak,  and  he  lies  there  like  a  log,  and  such 

191 


ON  THE  EVE 

a  fever  as  he  has!  *  My  God! '  I  thought,  '  who 
can  tell?— the  first  thing  you  know,  he  will  die; 
and  I  shall  have  to  give  notice  at  the  pohce-sta- 
tion.  For  he  is  alone.'  And  my  housewife  she 
says  to  me :  '  Go,'  says  she,  *  to  that  person,  from 
whom  our  man  hired  quarters  out  of  town:  per- 
haps he  will  tell  thee  what  to  do,  or  will  come  him- 
self.' So  I  've  come  to  your  grace,  because  we 
cannot,  that  is  .  .  .  ." 

BersenefF  snatched  up  his  cap,  thrust  a  ruble 
into  the  tailor's  hand,  and  immediately  drove  with 
him  in  hot  haste  to  InsarofF's  lodgings. 

He  found  him  lying  on  the  divan  unconscious, 
fully  dressed.  His  face  was  terribly  distorted. 
Berseneif  immediately  ordered  the  landlord  and 
landlady  to  undress  him  and  carry  him  to  his  bed, 
while  he  himself  flew  for  a  doctor  and  brought 
him.  The  doctor  prescribed  leeches,  Spanish 
flies,  and  calomel  simultaneously,  and  ordered 
him  to  be  bled. 

"  Is  he  dangerously  ill?  "  asked  Berseneff. 

"  Yes,  very," — replied  the  doctor. — "  The  most 
violent  sort  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs  exists; 
pneumonia  is  fully  developed,  the  brain  may 
be  implicated  also,  but  the  patient  is  young.  His 
very  strength  is  directed  against  himself  now. 
I  was  sent  for  rather  late  in  the  day ;  however,  we 
will  do  everything  which  science  demands. 

The  doctor  was  still  yoimg  himself,  and  be- 
lieved in  science. 

192 


ON  THE  EVE 

BerseneiF  remained  for  the  night.  The  land- 
lord and  landlady  turned  out  to  be  kindly  and 
even  active  folk,  as  soon  as  a  man  was  found 
who  took  it  upon  him  to  tell  them  what  ought  to 
be  done.  A  doctor's  assistant  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  the  medical  tortures  began. 

Toward  morning,  InsarofF  recovered  con- 
sciousness for  a  few  minutes,  recognised  Berse- 
nefF,  inquired,  "  I  am  ill,  apparently?  "  gazed 
about  him  with  the  dull  eyes  and  languid  surprise 
of  a  person  who  is  seriously  ill,  and  relapsed  into 
unconsciousness.  BersenefF  went  home,  changed 
his  clothing,  gathered  up  some  books,  and  re- 
turned to  InsarofF's  lodgings.  He  had  decided 
to  settle  down  there,  for  the  present,  at  least.  He 
fenced  ofF  the  bed  with  screens,  and  arranged  a 
little  nook  for  himself  near  the  divan.  The  day 
passed  neither  cheerfully  nor  quickly.  Berseneff 
absented  himself  for  the  purpose  of  dining. 
Evening  came.  He  lighted  a  candle  with  a  shade, 
and  began  to  read.  Everything  was  quiet  round 
about.  In  the  landlord's  quarters,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  partition,  there  was  audible  now  a  sup- 
pressed whispering,  now  a  yawn,  now  a  sigh  .... 
One  of  the  family  sneezed,  and  was  reproved  in  a 
whisper:  behind  the  screens  resounded  the  heavy 
and  uneven  breathing,  occasionally  broken  by  a 
brief  groan,  and  an  anxious  tossing  of  the  head 
upon  the  pillow  ....  Strange  thoughts  de- 
scended upon  BersenefF.    He  was  in  the  chamber 

193 


ON  THE  EVE 

of  a  man  whose  life  hung  on  a  thread,  of  a  man 
who,  as  he  knew,  loved  Elena  ....  He  recalled 
the  night  when  Shiibin  had  run  after  him  and 
declared  to  him  that  she  loved  him— BersenefF! 
And  now  .  .  .  .  "  What  am  I  to  do  now? "  he 
asked  himself.  "  Shall  I  inform  Elena  of  his 
illness?  Shall  I  wait?  This  news  is  sadder  than 
that  which  I  once  imj)arted  to  her:  't  is  strange 
how  fate  persists  in  placing  me  as  a  third  person 
between  them!  "  He  decided  that  it  was  better 
to  wait.  His  glance  fell  upon  the  table,  covered 
with  heaps  of  papers  ....  "Will  he  carry  out  his 
ideas?  "  thought  BersenefF.  "  Can  it  be  possible 
that  all  will  vanish?  "  And  he  felt  sorry  for  the 
young  life  which  was  being  extinguished,  and  he 
vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  save  it  ...  . 

It  was  a  bad  night.  The  sick  man  raved  a  great 
deal.  Several  times  BersenefF  rose  from  his  lit- 
tle couch,  approached  the  bed  on  tiptoe,  and 
listened  sadly  to  his  mutterings.  Once  only  did 
InsarofF  enunciate,  with  sudden  distinctness:  "  I 
will  not,  I  will  not,  thou  must  not  .  .  ."  Berse- 
nefF started  ^  and  looked  at  InsarofF :  his  face, 
anguished  and  ghastly  at  that  moment,  was  im- 
movable, and  his  hands  lay  helpless  .  .  .  .  "  I  will 
not,"  he  repeated,  almost  inaudibly. 

The  doctor  came  early  in  the  morning,  shook 
his  head,  and  prescribed  new  remedies. — "  The 

1  In  the  Russian,  it  is  plain  that  the  "  thou  "  refers 
to  a  woman.— Translator. 

194 


ON  THE  EVE 

crisis  is  still  remote," — ^he  said,  as  he  put  on  his 
hat. 

"  And  after  the  crisis?  " — asked  Berseneff. 

"  After  the  crisis ?  There  are  two  issues:  aut 
Ccesar,  aut  nihil" 

The  doctor  departed.  Berseneff  took  a  few 
turns  in  the  street:  he  needed  fresh  air.  He  re- 
turned, and  took  up  a  book.  He  had  finished 
Raumer  long  ago :  he  was  now  studying  Grote. 

All  at  once,  the  door  opened  gently,  and  the 
head  of  the  landlady's  little  daughter,  covered,  as 
usual,  with  a  heavy  kerchief,  was  thrust  into  the 
room. 

"  Here," — she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  is  the 
young  lady  who  gave  me  the  ten  kopeks  that 
time " 

The  head  of  the  landlady's  little  daughter  dis- 
appeared, and  in  its  place  Elena  made  her  ap- 
pearance. 

Berseneff  sprang  to  his  feet,  as  though  he  had 
been  scalded;  but  Elena  did  not  move,  did  not 
cry  out.  .  .  ,  She  seemed  to  have  comprehended 
everything  in  an  instant.  A  strange  pallor  over- 
spread her  face,  she  approached  the  screens, 
glanced  behind  them,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  Another  moment,  and 
she  would  have  flung  herself  on  Insaroff,  but 
Berseneff  restrained  her: — "What  are  you 
doing?  "—he  said  in  an  agitated  whisper.— 
"  You  might  kill  him!  " 

195 


ON  THE  EVE 

She  reeled.  He  led  her  to  the  little  divan,  and 
seated  her. 

She  looked  into  his  face,  then  measured  him 
with  a  glance,  then  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"Is  he  dying?" — she  asked  so  coldly  and 
calmly  that  BersenefF  was  frightened. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Elena  Nikolaevna," — he 
began,  "  why  do  you  ask  that?  He  is  ill,  it  is  true, 
— and  quite  dangerously  ....  But  we  will  save 
him;  I  will  answer  for  that." 

"  He  is  unconscious?  " — she  asked,  in  the  same 
manner  as  before. 

"  Yes,  he  is  insensible  now  ....  That  is  al- 
ways the  case  at  the  beginning  of  these  illnesses ; 
but  that  signifies  nothing, — nothing,  I  assure  you. 
Drink  this  water." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  he  understood 
that  she  had  not  heard  his  replies. 

"  If  he  dies," — she  said,  still  in  the  same  voice, 
— "  I  shall  die  also." 

At  that  moment  Insaroff  moaned  faintly;  she 
shuddered,  clasped  her  head,  then  began  to  untie 
her  hat-strings. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  Berseneff  asked  her. 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  " — ^he  repeated. 

"  I  shall  stay  here." 

"What  ....  for  long?" 

"  I  don't  know,  perhaps  all  day,  all  night,  for- 
ever. .  .  I  don't  know." 

196 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  For  God's  sake,  Elena  Nikolaevna,  come  to 
your  senses.  Of  course  I  could  not,  in  the  least, 
expect  to  see  you  here;  but,  nevertheless,  ...  I 
assume  that  you  have  come  hither  for  a  short  time. 
Remember,  they  may  miss  you  at  home " 

"  And  wha^t  of  that?  " 

"  They  will  search  for  you  ....  they  will 
find  you  .  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  of  that?  " 

"  Elena  Nikolaevna  1  You  see  .  .  .  he  can- 
not defend  you  now." 

She  dropped  her  head,  as  though  meditating, 
raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  and  convulsive 
sobs  suddenly  burst  forth  from  her  breast  with 
shattering  force.  .  .  .  She  flung  herself  face 
down  on  the  couch  and  tried  to  stifle  them,  but 
her  whole  body  heaved  and  throbbed  hke  a  bird 
which  has  just  been  caught. 

*'  Elena  Nikolaevna  ....  for  God's  sake 
.  .  .  ."  Berseneff*  kept  repeating  over  her. 

"Ah?  What  is  it?  "—rang  out  Insarofl"s 
voice. 

Elena  straightened  up,  Berseneif  stood  stock- 
still  on  the  spot  ....  After  a  pause,  he  ap- 
proached the  bed,  InsaroiF's  head  was  lying,  as 
before,  helplessly  on  the  pillow:  his  eyes  were 
closed. 

"  Is  he  delirious?  " — whispered  Elena. 

"Apparently,"  replied  Berseneff;  "but  that 
is  nothing;  it  is  always  so,  especially  if  .  .  .  ." 

197 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  When  did  he  fall  ill?  "—interrupted  Elena. 

"  Day  before  yesterday ;  I  have  been  here  since 
yesterday.  Rely  upon  me,  Elena  Nikolaevna. 
I  will  not  leave  him ;  all  means  shall  be  employed. 
If  necessary,  we  will  call  a  consultation  of  doc- 
tors." 

■"  He  will  die  withoi.1  me," — she  exclaimed, 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  to  send  you  news  every 
day  about  the  progress  of  his  malady;  and  if 
actual  danger  should  arise  .  ,  .  ." 

"  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  send  for  me  in- 
stantly, whatever  may  be  the  time,  by  day  or 
night ;  write  a  note  straight  to  me  ....  I  care  for 
nothing  now.  Do  you  hear?  do  you  promise  to  do 
this?" 

"  I  promise,  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"  Swear  it." 
I  swear. 

She  suddenly  seized  his  hand,  and  before  he 
could  draw  it  away  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Elena  Nikolaevna  .  .  what  are  you  doing?  " 
he  whispered. 

"  No  ...  no  ...  it  is  not  necessary  .  .  .  ." 
muttered  InsaroiF  incoherently,  and  sighed 
heavily. 

Elena  approached  the  screens,  clenched  her 
handkerchief  in  her  teeth,  and  gazed  long,  long  at 
the  sick  man.  Dumb  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks. 

198 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Elena  Nikolaevna," — said  BersenefF  to  her, 
—"he  may  come  to  himself  and  recognise  you; 
God  knows  whether  that  will  be  well.  Besides, 
I  am  expecting  the  doctor  at  any  minute  .  .  .  ." 

Elena  took  her  hat  from  the  divan,  put  it  on, 
and  paused.  Her  eyes  roved  sadly  over  the  room. 
She  seemed  to  be  recalling  .... 

"  I  cannot  go," — she  whispered  at  last. 

BersenefF  pressed  her  hand. — "  Collect  your 
forces," — he  said, — "  calm  yourself;  you  are  leav- 
ing him  in  my  care.  I  will  go  to  see  you  this 
very  evening." 

Elena  glanced  at  him  and  said: — "Oh,  my 
kind  friend!  "  burst  out  sobbing,  and  rushed  out 
of  the  room. 

Berseneff  leaned  against  the  door.  A  sad  and 
bitter  feeling,  not  devoid  of  a  certain  strange 
pleasure,  oppressed  his  heart.  "My  kind  friend!  " 
he  thought,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  is  there?  " — rang  out  InsarofF's  voice. 

BersenefF  went  to  him. — "  I  am  here,  Dmitry 
Nikanorovitch.  What  do  you  want?  How  do 
you  feel? " 

"  Only  you?  "  asked  the  sick  man. 

"  Only  I." 

"And  she?" 

"What  she?"  said  BersenefF,  almost  in  af- 
fright. 

InsarofF  remained  silent. — "  Mignonette," — 
he  whispered,  and  his  eyes  closed  again. 

199 


XXVI 

For  eight  whole  days  Insaroif  hung  between  life 
and  death.  The  doctor  came  incessantly,  feeling 
an  interest  still,  as  a  young  man,  in  a  difficult 
patient.  Shiibin  heard  of  InsarofF's  dangerous 
condition,  and  visited  him;  his  fellow-country- 
men—the Bulgarians — made  their  appearance; 
among  them,BersenefF  recognised  the  two  strange 
figures  who  had  aroused  his  amazement  by  their 
visit  to  the  villa;  all  expressed  their  sincere  sym- 
pathy, and  several  offered  to  take  BersenefF's 
place  at  the  bedside  of  the  sick  man ;  but  he  did  not 
consent,  remembering  the  promise  he  had  made  to 
Elena.  He  saw  her  every  day,  and  communi- 
cated to  her  by  stealth — sometimes  in  words, 
sometimes  in  a  tiny  note— all  the  details  of  the 
malady's  course.  With  what  heartfelt  appre- 
hension did  she  await  him!  How  she  listened  to 
him,  and  questioned  him!  She  herself  longed 
constantly  to  go  to  Insaroff ;  but  BersenefF  en- 
treated her  not  to  do  so :  Insaroff  was  rarely  alone. 
On  the  first  day,  when  she  barned  of  his  illness, 
she  nearly  fell  ill  herself ;  as  soon  as  she  got  home 
she  locked  herself  up  in  her  room,  but  she  was 
called  to  dinner,  and  she  presented  herself  in 

200 


ON  THE  EVE 

the  dining-room  with  such  a  face  that  Anna 
Vasflievna  was  frightened,  and  insisted  upon 
putting  her  to  bed.  However,  Elena  suc- 
ceeded in  controlling  herself.  "  If  he  dies," 
she  kept  reiterating,  "  I  shall  die  also."  This 
thought  soothed  her,  and  gave  her  strength 
to  appear  indifferent.  Moreover,  no  one  dis- 
turbed her:  Anna  Vasflievna  busied  herself 
with  her  influenza;  Shiibin  worked  with  exas- 
peration; Zoya  resigned  herself  to  melancholy, 
and  made  preparations  for  perusing  "  Werther"; 
Nikolai  Artemievitch  was  greatly  displeased  by 
the  frequent  visits  of  the  "  scholar,"  the  more  so 
as  his  "  views  "  with  regard  to  Kurnatovsky  made 
but  slow  progress:  the  practical  chief  secretary 
was  perplexed  and  was  waiting.  Elena  did  not 
even  thank  BersenefF:  there  are  services  for 
which  it  is  painful  and  mortifying  to  give  thanks. 
Only  once,  on  her  fourth  meeting  with  him  ( Insa- 
roff  had  passed  a  very  bad  night,  and  the  doctor 
had  hinted  at  a  consultation) , — only  at  that  meet- 
ing did  she  remind  him  of  his  oath.  "  Well,  in  that 
case  let  us  go,"  he  said  to  her.  She  rose,  and 
started  to  dress  herself.  "  No," — he  said ;  "  let  us 
wait  until  to-morrow." — Toward  evening,  Insa- 
rofF  was  a  little  easier. 

Eight  days  did  this  trial  last.  Elena  seemed 
calm,  but  could  eat  nothing,  did  not  sleep  at  night. 
A  dull  pain  existed  in  all  her  limbs ;  a  sort  of  dry, 
burning  mist  seemed  to  fill  her  head.     "  Our 

201 


ON  THE  EVE 

young  lady  is  melting  away  like  a  candle,"  her 
maid  remarked  concerning  her. 

At  last,  on  the  ninth  day,  the  crisis  came. 
Elena  was  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  beside 
Anna  Vasilievna,  and,  without  knowing  what  she 
was  about,  was  reading  to  her  the  Moscow  News. 
BersenefF  entered.  Elena  cast  a  glance  at  him 
(how  swift  and  timid  and  piercing  and  startled 
was  the  first  glance  which  she  cast  at  him  every 
time!),  and  immediately  divined  that  he  had 
brought  good  news.  He  smiled  and  gave  her 
a  slight  nod :  she  rose  to  greet  him. 

"  He  has  come  to  himself,  he  is  saved ;  in  a  week 
he  will  be  entirely  well," — he  whispered  to  her. 

Elena  put  out  her  hand,  as  though  warding  off 
a  blow,  and  said  nothing;  but  her  lips  quivered 
and  a  crimson  flush  overspread  her  whole  face. 
Berseneff  entered  into  conversation  with  Anna 
Vasilievna,  and  Elena  went  away  to  her  own 
room,  fell  on  her  knees,  and  began  to  pray,  to 
thank  God  ....  Light,  bright  tears  streamed 
from  her  eyes.  She  suddenly  became  conscious 
of  an  extreme  lassitude,  laid  her  head  on  her  pil- 
low, whispered,  "Poor  Andrei  Petrovitch!" 
and  instantly  fell  asleep  with  moist  eyelashes  and 
cheeks.  It  was  long  since  she  had  slept  and  had 
not  wept. 


202 


XXVII 

Berseneff^s  words  were  realised  only  in  part: 
the  danger  was  past,  but  Insaroff' s  strength 
returned  slowly,  and  the  doctor  talked  about  a 
profound  and  general  shock  to  his  whole  organ- 
ism. Nevertheless,  the  sick  man  left  his  bed  and 
began  to  walk  about  the  room.  BersenefF  removed 
to  his  own  lodgings ;  but  he  dropped  in  every  day 
to  see  his  friend,  who  was  still  weak,  and  every 
day,  as  before,  he  informed  Elena  as  to  the  con- 
dition of  his  health.  InsaroiF  did  not  dare  to 
write  to  her,  and  alluded  to  her  only  indirectly 
in  his  conversations  with  BerseneiF;  while  Berse- 
neff,  with  feigned  indifference,  told  him  about  his 
visits  to  the  Staklioffs,  endeavouring,  however, 
to  give  him  to  understand  that  Elena  had  been 
greatly  grieved,  and  that  now  she  had  recovered 
her  composure.  Neither  did  Elena  write  to  Insa- 
roff ;  she  had  something  else  in  her  head. 

One  day,  when  BersenefF  had  just  informed 
her,  with  a  joyful  countenance,  that  the  doctor 
had  already  given  InsarofF  permission  to  eat  a 
cutlet,  and  that  now,  probably,  he  would  soon  be 
out,  she  became  pensive  and  dropped  her  eyes  .  .  . 

"  Guess  what  I  want  to  say  to  you,"— she  said. 
BersenefF  was  disconcerted.    He  understood  her. 

203 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Probably,"— he  replied,  averting  his  eyes: — 
"  you  want  to  tell  me  that  you  wish  to  see  him." 

Elena  blushed,  and  in  a  barely  audible  tone 
articulated:  "  Yes." 

"Well,  what  then?  I  think  you  will  find  it 
very  easy."— ("  Fie!  "  he  thought,— "  what  a 
hateful  feeling  is  in  my  heart!  ") 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  I  have  done  it  al- 
ready .  .  .  .  "  said  Elena. — "  But  I  am  afraid 
now,  you  say,  he  is  rarely  alone." 

"  That  is  not  a  difficult  matter  to  remedy," — 
returned  BersenefF,  still  without  looking  at  her. — 
"  Of  course  I  cannot  forewarn  him;  but  give  me 
a  note.  Who  can  prevent  your  writing  to  him 
...  to  so  good  a  friend,  in  whom  you  take  an 
interest?  There  is  nothing  reprehensible  in  that. 
.  .  .  Appoint  .  .  .  that  is  to  say,  write  to  him 
when  you  will  come." 

"  I  am  ashamed," — whispered  Elena. 

"  Give  me  the  note,  I  will  carry  it." 

"  That  is  not  necessary;  but  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  ....  do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Andrei  Pe- 
trovitch  ....  not  to  go  to  him  to-morrow !  " 

Berseneff  bit  his  lip. 

"Ah!  Yes,  I  understand;  very  good,  very 
good." — And  adding  two  or  three  words  more,  he 
hastily  departed. 

"  So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better," — 
he  thought,  as  he  hurried  homeward.  "  I  have  not 
learned  anything  new,  but  so  much  the  better. 

204 


ON  THE  EVE 

What 's  the  use  of  clinging  to  the  rim  of  another 
person's  nest?  I  repent  of  nothing,  I  have  done 
what  my  conscience  bade  me,  but  now  it  is  enough. 
Let  them  go  their  way!  Not  without  cause  was 
my  father  wont  to  say  to  me:  'You  and  I,  my  dear 
fellow,  are  not  sybarites,  we  are  not  aristocrats, 
we  are  not  the  spoiled  darlings  of  fate  and  of 
nature,  we  are  not  even  martyrs, — we  are  toil- 
ers,  toilers,  and  again  toilers.  Don  thy  leathern 
apron,  toiler,  and  take  thyself  to  thy  work-bench, 
in  thy  dark  workshop!  But  let  the  sun  shine  on 
others !  Our  dull  life  has  a  pride  and  a  happiness 
of  its  own  also! '  " 

On  the  following  morning,  Insaroif  received 
by  the  city  post  a  brief  note :  "  Expect  me,"  wrote 
Elena,  and  he  gave  orders  that  all  callers  should 
be  refused. 


205 


XXVIII 

As  soon  as  InsarofF  read  Elena's  note,  he  imme- 
diately began  to  put  his  room  to  rights,  asked  his 
landlady  to  carry  away  the  phials  of  medicine, 
took  off  his  dressing-gown,  and  put  on  his  coat. 
His  head  reeled  with  weakness  and  joy,  and  his 
heart  beat  violently.  His  legs  gave  way  beneath 
him:  he  dropped  on  the  divan,  and  began  to  look 
at  his  watch.  "  It  is  now  a  quarter  to  twelve," — 
he  said  to  himself: — "she  cannot  possibly  get 
here  before  twelve ;  I  will  think  of  something  else 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or  I  cannot  bear  it.  She 
cannot  possibly  come  before  twelve " 

The  door  opened,  and  with  the  light  rustle  of  a 
silken  gown,  all  pale  and  fresh,  young  and  happy, 
Elena  entered,  and  fell  upon  his  breast  with  a 
faint  cry  of  joy. 

"  Thou  art  alive,  thou  art  mine," — she  kept 
repeating,  as  she  embraced  and  caressed  his  head. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  swooning ;  he  panted  with 
this  proximity,  these  touches,  this  happiness. 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  nestled  up  to  him, 
and  began  to  look  at  him  with  that  laughing, 
caressing,  and  tender  glance  which  beams  only  in 
the  loving  eyes  of  women. 

Her  face  suddenly  became  overcast. 

206 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  How  thin  thou  hast  grown,  my  poor  Dmi- 
try,"— she  said,  passing  her  hand  over  his  neck, 
— "  what  a  beard  thou  hast!  " 

"  And  thou,  too,  hast  grown  thin,  my  poor 
Elena," — ^he  repHed,  catching  her  fingers  with 
his  Hps. 

She  shook  back  her  curls  merrily. 

"  That  is  nothing.  Thou  shalt  see  how  we  will 
recover !  The  storm  has  passed  over,  as  on  the  day 
when  we  met  in  the  chapel ;  it  has  rushed  up  and 
passed  away." 

He  replied  to  her  only  by  a  smile. 

"  Akh,  what  days,  Dmitry,  what  cruel  days ! 
How  can  people  survive  those  they  love !  I  knew 
beforehand,  every  time,  what  Andrei  Petrovitch 
was  going  to  tell  me,  I  really  did:  my  life  sank 
and  rose  together  with  thine.  Good  morning,  my 
Dmitry!" 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  her.  He 
wanted  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet. 

"  I  have  also  observed,"— she  went  on,  tossing 
back  his  hair—"  I  have  been  making  a  great  many 
observations  during  this  time,  in  my  leisure — 
when  a  person  is  very,  very  unhappy,  with  what 
stupid  attention  he  watches  everything  which  goes 
on  around  him!  Reallv,  I  sometimes  stared  at  a 
fly,  and  all  the  while,  what  cold  and  terror  there 
was  in  my  own  soul!  But  all  that  is  over,  it  is 
over,  is  it  not?  Everything  is  bright  in  future, 
is  it  not? 

207 


ON  THE  EVE 


a 


Thou  art  the  future  for  me," — replied  Insa- 
roff, — "  it  is  bright  for  me." 

"  And  for  me  too!  But  dost  thou  remember, 
when  I  was  with  thee  then,  the  last  time  .  .  .  . 
no,  not  the  last  time,"— she  repeated,  with  an  in- 
voluntary shudder, — "  but  when  we  talked  to- 
gether, I  alluded  to  death,  I  know  not  why;  I 
did  not  then  suspect  that  it  was  standing  guard 
over  us.  But  thou  art  well  now,  art  thou 
not?" 

"  I  am  much  better,  I  am  almost  well." 

"  Thou  art  well,  thou  didst  not  die.  Oh,  how 
happy  I  am !  " 

A  brief  silence  ensued. 

"  Elena?  " — InsarofF  said  interrogatively. 

"  What,  my  dear  one?  " 

"  Tell  me,  has  it  not  occurred  to  you  that  this 
illness  was  sent  to  us  as  a  chastisement? " 

Elena  looked  seriously  at  him. 

"  That  thought  has  occurred  to  me,  Dmitry. 
But  I  thought:  Why  should  I  be  chastised?  What 
duty  have  I  violated,  against  what  have  I  sinned  ? 
Perhaps  my  conscience  is  not  like  that  of  others, 
but  it  was  silent;  or,  perhaps,  I  am  to  blame  to- 
ward thee? — I  hinder  thee,  I  hold  thee  back  . . . ." 

"  Thou  art  not  holding  me  back,  Elena;  we  will 
go  together." 

"  Yes,  Dmitry,  we  will  go  together,  I  will  fol- 
low thee  ....  That  is  my  duty.  I  love  thee  .... 
I  know  no  other  dutJ^" 

208 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Oh,  Elena!  " — said  Insaroff : — "  what  invin- 
cible chains  does  thy  word  lay  upon  me!  " 

"Why  talk  about  chains?" — she  interposed. 
— "  We  are  free  people.  Yes," — she  went  on, 
gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  floor,  while  with  one 
hand  she  continued  to  stroke  his  hair  as  before, — 
"  I  have  gone  through  a  great  deal  of  late,  of 
which  I  had  never  the  least  conception!  If  any 
one  had  predicted  to  me  that  I,  a  well-born,  well- 
bred  young  lady,  would  leave  the  house  alone, 
under  divers  fictitious  pretexts,  and  go  whither  be- 
sides,— to  a  young  man's  lodgings! — how  en- 
raged I  should  have  been !  And  all  that  has  come 
to  pass,  and  I  do  not  feel  the  slightest  indignation. 
God  is  my  witness  that  I  do  not !  "  she  added,  and 
turned  toward  Insaroif . 

He  gazed  at  her  with  such  an  expression  of 
adoration,  that  she  gently  lowered  her  hand  from 
his  hair  to  his  eyes. 

"  Dmitry!  "—she  began  again,— "  of  course 
thou  dost  not  know,  but  I  saw  thee  yonder,  on  that 
dreadful  bed,— I  saw  thee  in  the  claws  of  death, 
unconscious  .  .  .  ." 

"  Thou  sawest  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  remained  silent. — "  And  was  Berseneff 
here?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 

Insaroff  bent  toward  her.—"  Oh,  Elena!"  he 
whispered: — "  I  dare  not  look  at  thee." 

209 


ON  THE  EVE 


(( 


Why?  Andrei  Petrovitch  is  so  kind !  I  was 
not  ashamed  before  him.  And  what  have  I  to  be 
ashamed  of?  I  am  ready  to  tell  all  the  world  that 
I  am  thine And  I  trust  Andrei  Petro- 
vitch like  a  brother." 

"  He  saved  me!  "—cried  Insaroff.— *'  He  is  the 
noblest,  the  best  of  men!  " 

"  Yes And  knowest  thou,  that  I  am 

indebted  to  him  for  everything?  Knowest  thou, 
that  he  was  the  first  to  tell  me  that  thou  lovedst 

me?    And  if  I  could  reveal  all Yes,  he 

is  a  most  noble  man." 

InsarofF  looked  intently  at  Elena. — "  He  is  in 
love  with  thee,  is  he  not?  " 

Elena  dropped  her  eyes.—"  He  did  love  me," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Insaroff  clasped  her  hand  closely. — "  Oh,  you 
Russians," — he  said, — "  you  have  hearts  of  gold! 
And  he— he  nursed  me,  he  did  not  sleep  at  night 
....  And  thou — thou,  my  angel  ....  No  re- 
proach, no  wavering  ....  and  all  this  for  me, 
for  me !...." 

"  Yes,  yes,  all  for  thee,  because  thou  art  be- 
loved. Akh,  Dmitry !  How  strange  it  is !  I  think 
I  have  already  spoken  to  thee  about  it, — but  never 
mind,  it  is  pleasant  to  me  to  repeat  it,  and  it  will 
be  pleasant  for  thee  to  hear  it,— when  I  beheld 
thee  for  the  first  time  .  .  .  ." 

"  Why  are  there  tears  in  thine  eyes? " — Insa- 
roff interrupted  her. 

210 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Tears?  In  my  eyes?  " — She  wiped  her  eyes 
with  her  handkerchief. — "Oh,  the  stupid!  He 
does  not  yet  know  that  people  weep  for  happiness. 
As  I  was  going  to  say:  When  I  beheld  thee  for 
the  first  time,  I  perceived  nothing  particular  in 
thee,  truly.  I  remember,  at  first  I  liked  Shiibin 
much  better,  although  I  never  loved  him;  and  as 
for  Andrei  Petrovitch,— oh!  there  was  a  moment 
when  I  thought :  Can  he  be  the  man?  But  thou — 
I  felt  nothing ;  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  afterward 
....  afterward  ....  thou  didst  fairly  seize 
my  heart  with  both  hands !  " 

"  Spare  me !  "—said  Insaroff .  He  tried  to  rise, 
but  immediately  sank  back  on  the  divan. 

"  What  ails  thee?  "  asked  Elena  anxiously. 

"  Nothing.  ...  I  am  still  a  little  weak  .... 
This  happiness  is  beyond  my  strength." 

"  Then  sit  quietly.  Do  not  dare  to  stir,  do  not 
get  excited,"— she  added,  shaking  her  finger  at 
him.—"  And  why  have  you  taken  off  your  dress- 
ing-gown? It  is  too  early  for  you  to  put  on 
foppish  airs!  Sit  still,  and  I  will  tell  you  stories. 
Listen,  and  be  silent.  After  your  illness,  it  is  in- 
jurious for  you  to  talk  much." 

She  began  to  tell  him  about  Shiibin,  about  Kur- 
natovsky,  about  what  she  had  been  doing  for  the 
last  fortnight, — that,  according  to  the  news- 
papers, war  was  inevitable,  and  consequently,  as 
soon  as  he  should  be  entirely  well,  he  must  find 
means  for  departure  without  wasting  a  moment's 

211 


ON  THE  EVE 

time.  .  .  .  She  said  all  this,  as  she  sat  by  his  side, 
leaning  against  his  shoulder.  .  .  . 

He  listened  to  her,— listened,  now  paling, 
now  flushing  ....  Several  times  he  attempted 
to  stop  her,  and  then  he  suddenly  drew  him- 
self up. 

"  Elena," — he  said  to  her,  with  a  strange,  harsh 
sort  of  voice, — "  leave  me,  go  away." 

"  What,"— she  said,  with  surprise. — *'  Dost 
thou  feel  ill?  "—she  added  quickly. 

"  No  ...  I  am  all  right  ....  but,  leave  me, 
please." 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee.  Thou  art  driving 
me  away?  .  .  .  What  is  it  thou  art  doing? " — 
she  said  suddenly:  he  had  bent  down  from  the 
divan  almost  to  the  floor,  and  was  pressing  his 
lips  to  her  feet.—"  Don't  do  that,  Dmitry  .... 
Dmitry  .  .  .  ." 

He  raised  himself  up,  part  way. 

"  Then  leave  me !  Seest  thou,  Elena,  when  I 
fell  ill  I  did  not  at  once  lose  consciousness,  I 
knew  I  was  on  the  verge  of  destruction;  even  in 
my  fever,  even  in  my  delirium,  I  was  dimly  con- 
scious that  death  was  advancing  toward  me,  that 
I  had  bidden  farewell  to  life,  to  thee,  to  every- 
thing, I  was  parting  with  hope  ....  and  all  at 
once,  that  revival,  that  light  in  the  darkness,  thou 

thou  wert  by  my  side,  in  my  room,  .... 

thy  head,  thy  breath This  is  beyond  my 

strength!  I  feel  that  I  love  thee  passionately,  I 

212 


ON  THE  EVE 

hear  thee  caUing  thyself  mine,  I  can  answer  for 
nothing.  .  .  .  Go  away!" 

"  Dmitry  .  .  .  .  "  whispered  Elena,  and  hid 
her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Only  now  did  she  un- 
derstand him. 

"  Elena," — he  went  on, — "  I  love  thee,  thou 
knowest  it;  I  am  ready  to  give  my  life  for 
thee  .  .  .  but  why  hast  thou  come  to  me  now, 
when  I  am  weak,  when  I  am  not  in  control  of  my- 
self, when  all  my  blood  is  aflame?  .  .  .  Thou  art 
mine,  thou  say  est  ....  thou  lovest  me  .  .  .  .  " 

"Dmitry," — she  repeated,  all  flushed,  and 
pressing  herself  still  more  closely  to  him. 

"  Elena,  have  pity  on  me— go  away!  I  feel  I 
may  die — I  cannot  endure  these  attacks  .... 
my  whole  soul  longs  for  thee  .  .  .  reflect,  death 
has  almost  parted  us  .  .  .  and  now  thou  art  here, 
in  my  arms  ....  Elena  .  .  .  .  " 

She  trembled  all  over.  .  .  "  Then  take  me,"  she 
whispered,  almost  inaudibly. 


213 


XXIX 

•Nikolai  Artemievitch  was  striding  to  and  fro 
in  his  study,  with  frowning  brows.  Shiibin  was 
sitting  by  the  window,  and,  with  one  leg  thrown 
over  the  other,  was  cahnly  smoking  a  cigar. 

"  Please  stop  pacing  from  corner  to  corner," 
he  said,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "  I 
am  still  waiting  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say, 
I  am  watching  you— and  my  neck  is  tired. 
Moreover,  there  is  something  forced,  melodra- 
matic, about  your  stride." 

"  You  want  to  do  nothing  but  jest,"— replied 
Nikolai  Artemievitch.  "  You  will  not  enter  into 
my  position,  you  will  not  understand  that  I  have 
become  accustomed  to  that  woman,  that  I 
am  attached  to  her— in  short,  that  her  absence 
must  torture  me.  Here  it  is  almost  December, 
winter  is  at  the  end  of  our  noses.  .  .  .  What  can 
she  be  doing  in  Revel? " 

"  She  must  be  knitting  stockings  .  .  .  for 
herself;  for  herself— not  for  you." 

"  Laugh  away,  laugh  away;  but  let  me  tell 
you,  that  I  do  not  know  such  another  woman. 
Such  honesty,  such  disinterestedness  .  .  .  ." 

"  Has  she  put  in  that  note  for  collection? "  in- 
quired Shiibin. 

214 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Such  disinterestedness,"— repeated  Nikolai 
Artemievitch,  raising  his  voice, — "  is  wonderful. 
They  tell  me  that  there  are  a  million  other 
women  in  the  world;  but  I  say:  Show  me  that 
million ;  show  me  that  million,  I  say :  ces  femmes, 
quon  me  les  montre!  And  she  does  not  write, 
—that  is  what  is  deadly!  " 

"  You  are  as  eloquent  as  Insaroff," — re- 
marked Shiibin:— "but  do  you  know  what  I 
would  advise  you  to  do?  " 

"When?" 

"  When  Augustina  Christianovna  returns  .  .  . 
you  understand  me?" 

"Well,  yes;  what  then?" 

"  When  you  see  her  ....  Do  you  follow  the 
development  of  my  idea?" 

"  Well,  yes,  yes." 

"  Try  to  beat  her:  what  will  be  the  result? " 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  turned  away  in  wrath. 

"  I  thought  he  really  would  give  me  some 
practical  advice.  But  what  can  one  expect 
from  him!  An  artist,  a  man  devoid  of  prin- 
ciples .  .  .  ." 

"Devoid  of  principles!  Why,  they  say  that 
your  favourite,  Mr.  Kurnatovsky,  a  man  with 
principles,  cleaned  a  hundred  rubles  out  of  you 
yesterday.  That  is  not  delicate,  you  must  ad- 
mit." 

"  What  of  it?  We  were  playing  a  commer- 
cial game.     Of  course,  I  might  have  expected 

215 


ON  THE  EVE 

.  .  .  But  people  are  so  incapable  of  appreciating 
liim  in  this  house  .  .  .  ." 

"  That  he  thought: '  Here  goes! '  "  put  in  Shu- 
bin:— "' Whether  he  is  to  be  my  father-in-law 
or  not,  is  a  matter  which  is  still  hidden  in  the 
urn  of  fate,  but  a  hundred  rubles  are  good  for  a 
man  who  does  not  take  bribes.'  " 

"  Father-in-law!  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean  by  being  a  father-in-law? — Vous  revez, 
mon  cher.  Of  course,  any  other  girl  would  have 
been  delighted  with  such  a  suitor.  Judge  for 
yourself:  he  's  a  dashing,  clever  man,  he  has 
made  his  own  way  in  the  world,  he  has  toiled 
hard  for  a  livelihood  in  two  governments  .  .  .  ." 

"  In  the  Government  of  *  *  *  *,  he  led  the 
Governor  by  the  nose,"— remarked  Shubin. 

"  Very  likely.  Evidently,  that  was  as  it 
should  be.    He  's  practical,  energetic  .  .  .  ." 

"  And  plays  cards  well,"— remarked  Shubin 
again. 

"  Well,  yes,  he  does  play  cards  well.  But 
Elena  Nikolaevna  ....  Can  she  understand? 
I  want  to  know  where  is  the  man  who  will  un- 
dertake to  understand  what  she  wants?  Some- 
times she  is  merry,  again  she  is  bored;  suddenly, 
she  grows  so  thin  that  one  does  not  wish  to  look 
at  her,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  recovers, 
and  all  this  without  any  visible  cause " 

A  homely  footman  entered  with  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee, a  cream- jug,  and  rusks  on  a  tray. 

"  The  father  is  pleased  with  the  suitor,"— went 

216 


ON  THE  EVE 

on  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  waving  a  rusk, — "  but 
what  does  the  daughter  care  about  that?  That 
was  all  right  in  former,  patriarchal  times,  but 
now  we  have  changed  all  that.  Nous  avons 
change  tout  pa.  Now  a  young  lady  talks  with 
whomsoever  she  pleases;  she  goes  about  Moscow 
without  a  lackey,  without  a  maid,  as  in  Paris; 
and  all  that  is  accepted.  The  other  day  I  asked : 
'  Where  is  Elena  Nikolaevna? '  I  am  told,  '  She 
has  been  pleased  to  go  out.'  Whither?  No  one 
knows.    Is  that— proper?  " 

"  Do  take  your  cup,  and  dismiss  the  man," — 
said  Shubin. — "  You  yourself  say  that  one 
should  not  talk  devant  les  domestiques" — he 
added  in  an  undertone. 

The  footman  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  Shu- 
bin,  but  Nikolai  Artemievitch  took  his  cup, 
poured  himself  some  cream,  and  clutched  up 
half  a  score  of  rusks. 

"  What  I  meant  to  say,"  he  began,  as  soon 
as  the  servant  had  left  the  room, — "  is  that  I  am 
of  no  account  in  this  house.  That  's  all.  Be- 
cause, in  our  day,  every  one  judges  by  the  ex- 
terior: one  man  is  empty  and  stupid,  but  has 
a  pompous  mien, — and  he  is  respected;  while 
another,  perhaps,  is  possessed  of  talents  which 
might  ....  might  be  of  great  service,  but  ow- 
ing to  his  modesty " 

"Are  you  a  statesman,  Nikolinka?"  inquired 
Shubin,  in  a  very  subtle  voice. 

"  Have  done  with  your  clownish  pranks  I "  ex- 

217 


ON  THE  EVE 

claimed  Nikolai  Artemievitch  angrily.  You 
forget  yourself!  Here's  a  fresh  proof  for 
you  that  I  count  for  nothing  in  this  house, 
nothing! " 

"  Anna  Vasilievna  persecutes  you,  poor  fel- 
low!" said  Shiibin,  stretching  himself.  "  Ekh, 
Nikolai  Artemievitch,  you  and  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  ourselves!  You  had  better  prepare 
some  little  gift  for  Anna  Vasilievna.  Her  birth- 
day comes  shortly,  and  you  know  how  she  prizes 
the  smallest  token  of  attention  on  your  part." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Nikolai  Artemievitch 
hastily: — "  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
reminding  me  of  it.  Of  course,  of  course ;  with- 
out fail.  And  here,  I  have  a  trifle ;  a  little  clasp, 
which  I  purchased  a  few  days  ago  at  Rosen- 
strauch's;  only,  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  suit- 
able?" 

"  I  suppose  you  bought  it  for  the  other  one, 
the  resident  of  Revel?  " 

"  That  is  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  yes  ...  I  thought  .  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  in  that  case,  it  certainly  is  suitable." 

Shubin  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Where  shall  we  spend  the  evening,  Pa- 
vel Yakovlevitch,  hey?  "  Nikolai  Artemievitch 
asked  him,  looking  him  amiably  in  the  eye. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  the  club.'* 

"  After  the  club  ....  after  the  club." 

Again  Shubin  stretched  himself. 

"  No,  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  I  must  work  to- 

218 


ON  THE  EVE 

morrow.  Some  other  time."— And  he  left  the 
room. 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  frowned,  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  a  couple  of  times,  took  from  a 
bureau  a  small  velvet  case  with  the  "  little  clasp," 
and  for  a  long  time  gazed  at  it  and  rubbed  it 
up  with  his  silk  handkerchief.  Then  he  sat 
down  in  front  of  the  mirror,  and  began  carefully 
to  brush  his  thick  black  hair,  pompously  in- 
clining his  head  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the 
left,  thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and 
never  taking  his  eyes  from  his  parting.  Some 
one  coughed  behind  him:  he  glanced  round,  and 
beheld  the  footman  who  had  brought  the  coffee. 

"  Why  hast  thou  come?  "  he  asked  him. 

"  Nikolai  Artemievitch !  "  said  the  lackey,  not 
without  considerable  solemnity — "  you  are  our 
master! " 

*'  I  know  it:  what  next?  " 

"  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  please  do  not  be 
angry  with  me;  only,  as  I  have  been  in  your 
grace's  service  since  my  youth,  it  is  my  duty,  out 
of  slavish  zeal,  to  inform  you " 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

The  lackey  shifted  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  You  were  pleased  to  say  just  now," — he 
began, — "  that  you  did  not  know  where  Elena 
Nikolaevna  is  pleased  to  go.  I  have  become 
acquainted  with  it." 

"  What  lies  art  thou  telling,  fool? " 

219 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  I  can't  help  it :  only  three  days  ago  I  saw 
her  entering  a  certain  house." 

"  Where?  what?  what  house?  " 

"  In  the  *  *  *  alley,  near  Povarskaya  Street. 
Not  far  from  here.  And  I  asked  the  yard- 
porter.    '  What  lodgers  have  you? '  says  I." 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  began  to  stamp  his  feet. 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  rascal!  How  darest  thou? 
.  .  .  Elena  Nikolaevna,  in  her  kindness  of  heart, 
is  visiting  the  poor,  and  thou  ....  Begone, 
fool!" 

The  frightened  lackey  started  for  the  door 
with  a  rush. 

"Stop!"  shouted  Nikolai  Artemievitch. 
"  What  did  the  yard-porter  say?  " 

"  Why,  no  ...  .  thing, — he  said  nothing. 
'  A  stu  .  .  .  student,'  says  he." 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  rascal!  Listen,  scoundrel: 
if  thou  darest  to  speak  of  this  to  any  one,  even 
in  thy  sleep  .  .  .  ." 

"Have  mercy,  sir!  .  .  .  ." 

"  Silence!  if  thou  so  much  as  utter  est  a  sound 
....  if  any  one  ....  if  I  hear  ....  thou 
shalt  not  find  refuge  from  me  even  under  the 
earth!    Dost  hear?    Take  thyself  off!  " 

The  lackey  vanished. 

"O  Lord  my  God!  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this?"  thought  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  when 
he  found  himself  alone:— "what  was  it  that 
lii'^okhead  told  me?    Hey?    But  I  must  find  out 

220 


ON  THE  EVE 

what  house  it  is,  and  who  lives  there.  I  must  go 
myself.  A  pretty  pass  things  have  come  to,  upon 
my  word!  ....  JJn  laquais!  .Quelle  humilia- 
tion! " 

And  repeating  aloud,  ''  JJn  laquais! "  Nikolai 
Artemievitch  locked  up  the  clasp  in  his  bureau, 
and  betook  himself  to  Anna  Vasilievna.  He 
found  her  in  bed,  with  her  cheek  in  a  bandage. 
But  the  sight  of  her  sufferings  merely  irritated 
him,  and  he  speedily  reduced  her  to  tears. 


221 


XXX 

In  the  meantime,  the  storm  which  had  been 
brewing  in  the  East  broke.  Turkey  declared 
war  on  Russia;  the  date  set  for  the  evacuation 
of  the  principaUties  had  already  passed;  the 
day  of  the  uprising  of  Sinope  was  not  far  dis- 
tant. The  last  letters  received  by  Insaroff  sum- 
moned him  importunately  to  his  native  land. 
His  health  was  not  yet  restored :  he  coughed,  felt 
weak,  and  had  light  attacks  of  fever,  but  he 
hardly  remained  in  the  house  at  all.  His  soul 
was  on  fire;  he  no  longer  thought  of  his  illness. 
He  was  incessantly  going  about  Moscow ;  he  met 
various  persons  by  stealth;  many  a  time  he  wrote 
all  night  long ;  he  disappeared  for  days  together ; 
he  announced  to  his  landlord  that  he  was  going 
away  soon,  and  presented  him,  in  advance,  with 
his  simple  furniture.  Elena,  on  her  side,  was 
also  making  preparations  to  depart.  One  stormy 
evening,  she  was  sitting  in  her  own  chamber,  and 
as  she  hemmed  a  handkerchief  she  involuntarily 
listened  with  sadness  to  the  howling  of  the  wind. 
Her  maid  entered,  and  told  her  that  her  papa 
was  in  her  mamma's  bedroom,  and  requested  her 
to  go  thither  .  .  .  .  "  Your  mamma  is  crying," 

222 


ON  THE  EVE 

— she  whispered  after  the  departing  Elena, — 
"  and  your  papa  is  in  a  rage  .  .  .  ." 

Elena  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly,  and 
entered  Anna  Vasilievna's  bedroom.  Nikolai 
Artemievitch's  good-natured  wife  was  half -re- 
clining in  a  lounging-chair  and  sniffing  at  a 
handkerchief  scented  with  eau  de  Cologne;  he 
himself  was  standing  by  the  fireplace,  with  his 
coat  buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  in  a  tall,  stiff 
neckcloth,  and  with  stiffly-starched  cuffs,  and 
dimly  suggested  by  his  carriage  some  parlia- 
mentary orator.  With  an  oratorical  wave  of  his 
hand,  he  motioned  his  daughter  to  a  chair,  and 
when  she,  not  understanding  his  gesture,  looked 
inquiringly  at  him,  he  said  with  dignity,  but 
without  turning  his  head:  "  I  beg  that  you  will 
be  seated."  (Nikolai  Artemievitch  addressed  his 
wife  as  you  always  and  his  daughter  on  extraor- 
dinary occasions.) 

Elena  sat  down. 

Anna  Vasilievna  blew  her  nose  tearfully. 
Nikolai  Artemievitch  thrust  his  right  hand  into 
the  breast  of  his  coat. 

"  I  have  summoned  you,  Elena  Nikolaevna," 
— he  began,  after  a  prolonged  silence,  "  for  the 
purpose  of  having  an  explanation  with  you— or, 
I  had  better  say,  for  the  purpose  of  demanding 
an  explanation  from  you.  I  am  displeased  with 
you,— or,  no:  that  is  putting  it  too  mildly;  your 
conduct  afflicts,  shocks  me- me  and  your  mother 

223 


ON  THE  EVE 

....  your  mother,  whom  you  see  here  before 
you." 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  set  in  action  only  the 
bass  notes  of  his  voice.  Elena  gazed  at  him 
in  silence,  then  at  Anna  Vasilievna,  and  turned 
pale. 

"  There  was  a  time,"— began  Nikolai  Ar- 
temievitch again,— "when  daughters  did  not 
permit  themselves  to  look  down  upon  their  par- 
ents,—when  the  parental  authority  made  the  dis- 
obedient tremble.  That  time  is  past,  unfortu- 
nately,—so,  at  least,  many  persons  think:  but,  be- 
lieve me,  there  still  exist  laws  which  do  not 
permit  ....  do  not  permit  ....  in  short,  laws 
still  exist.  I  beg  that  you  will  direct  your  atten- 
tion to  this  point:  laws  exist." 

"  But,  papa,"— Elena  was  beginning. 

"  I  request  that  you  will  not  interrupt  me. 
Let  us  return,  in  thought,  to  the  past.  Anna 
Vasilievna  and  I  have  performed  our  duty. 
Anna  Vasilievna  and  I  have  spared  nothing  on 
your  education:  neither  expense  nor  solicitude. 
What  profit  you  have  drawn  from  all  this  solici- 
tude, from  all  this  expenditure— is  another 
question;  but  I  had  a  right  to  think  .  .  .  Anna 
Vasilievna  and  I  had  a  right  to  think  that  you 
would,  at  least,  sacredly  preserve  those  princi- 
ples of  morahty  which  ....  which  we  have 
....  which,  as  our  only  daughter  ....  que 
nous  vous  avons  inculques — which  we  have  incul- 

224 


ON  THE  EVE 

cated  in  you.  We  had  the  right  to  think  that 
no  new  '  ideas  '  would  touch  that,  so  to  speak, 
stipulated  inviolability.  And  what  is  the  result? 
I  am  not  now  referring  to  the  frivolity  inherent 
in  your  sex,  in  your  age  ....  but  who  could 
have  expected  that  you  would  so  far  forget 
yourself " 

"  Papa," — said  Elena, — "  I  know  what  you 
want  to  say " 

"  No,  thou  dost  not  know  what  I  want  to 
say!" — shouted  Nikolai  Artemievitch  in  a  fal- 
setto voice,  suddenly  abandoning  the  majesty  of 
his  parliamentary  demeanour,  and  his  suave  dig- 
nity of  speech,  and  his  bass  tones:—"  Thou  dost 
not  know,  audacious  chit !  .  .  .  ." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Nicolas''  hsped  Anna 
Vasilievna, — ''^  vous  me  faites  mourir." 

"  Don't  tell  me  thaX—que  je  vous  fais  mourir, 
Anna  Vasilievna!  you  have  not  the  slightest 
idea  what  you  are  about  to  hear !  Prepare  your- 
self for  the  worst,  I  warn  you!  " 

Anna  Vasilievna  was  fairly  dumfounded. 

"  No," — went  on  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  turn- 
ing to  Elena: — "thou  dost  not  know  what  I 
want  to  say  to  thee !  " 

"  I  am  to  blame  before  you  ..."  she  began. 

"Hey,  at  last,  then?" 

"  I  am  to  blame  before  you," — went  on  Elena, 
— "  in  that  I  did  not,  long  ago  confess " 

"  But  dost  thou  know,"  Nikolai  Artemievitch 

225 


ON  THE  EVE 

interrupted  her, — "  that   I   can  annihilate  thee 
with  a  single  word?  " 

Elena  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"Yes,  madam,  with  a  single  word!  You 
need  n't  look  like  that!  "  (He  folded  his  arms  on 
his  chest.)  "  Permit  me  to  ask  you,  Are  you  ac- 
quainted with  a  certain  house  in  *  *  *  alley,  near 
Povarskaya  Street?  Have  you  visited  that 
house?  "  (He  stamped  his  foot.)  "  Answer  me, 
wretched  girl,  and  do  not  try  to  deceive  me! 
People,  people,  lackeys,  madam,  de  vils  laquais, 
have  seen  you  going  in  there  to  your " 

Elena  flushed  all  over,  and  her  eyes  began  to 
sparkle. 

"  I  have  no  occasion  to  deceive  you,"  she  said; 
"  yes,  I  have  visited  that  house." 

"  Very  fine !  you  hear,  you  hear,  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna.  And,  probably,  you  know  who  lives 
there?" 

"  Yes,  I  know:  my  husband." 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  stared. 

"  Thy " 

"  My  husband,"— repeated  Elena.—"  I  am 
married  to  Dmitry  Nikanorovitch  Insaroff." 

"Thou?  .  .  .  Married!  ..."  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna  articulated  with  difficulty. 

"  Yes,  mamma.  .  .  .  Forgive  me  I  We  were 
married  secretly,  a  fortnight  ago." 

Anna  Vasilievna  fell  back  in  her  chair;  Niko- 
lai Artemievitch  retreated  a  couple  of  paces. 

226 


ON  THE  EVE 

"Married!  To  that  tiiimpery  fellow,  that 
Montenegrin!  The  daughter  of  Nikolai  Stak- 
hoiF,  a  member  of  the  ancient  hereditary  nobility, 
married  to  a  tramp,  to  a  man  of  no  caste !  With- 
out the  parental  blessing!  And  dost  thou  think 
that  I  will  leave  matters  thus?  that  I  shall  not 
make  complaint?  that  I  shall  permit  thee  .  .  . 
that  thou  ....  that  ....  I  '11  send  thee  to  a 
convent,  and  him  to  the  galleys,  to  the  peniten- 
tiary battalion!  Anna  Vasilievna,  be  so  good 
as  to  tell  her  at  once  that  you  will  deprive  her  of 
her  inheritance! " 

"Nikolai  Artemievitch,  for  God's  sake!" 
moaned  Anna  Vasilievna. 

"  And  when,  in  what  way,  did  this  take  place? 
Who  performed  the  marriage  ceremony  for 
you?  Where?  My  God!  What  will  all  our  ac- 
quaintances, what  will  everybody  say  now !  And 
thou,  shameless  hypocrite,  couldst  dwell  under 
the  parental  roof -tree  after  such  a  deed!  Hast 
thou  not  feared  a  thunderbolt  from  heaven? " 

"Papa," — said  Elena  (she  was  trembling  all 
over,  from  head  to  foot,  but  her  voice  was  firm), 
— "  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  what  you  like  with 
me,  but  you  accuse  me  without  cause  of  shame- 
lessness  and  hypocrisy.  I  did  not  wish  .... 
to  grieve  you  any  sooner  than  was  necessary ;  but 
I  would  have  told  you  everything,  myself,  per- 
force, in  a  few  days,  because  my  husband  and  I 
are  going  away  from  here  next  week." 

227 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Going  away?    Whither?  " 

"  To  his  native  land,— to  Bulgaria." 

"  To  the  Turks! "  cried  Anna  Vasilievna,  and 
fell  in  a  swoon. 

Elena  darted  to  her  mother. 

"Away!"  roared  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  and 
seized  his  daughter  by  the  arm:—"  Begone,  uii' 
worthy  one! " 

But,  at  that  moment,  the  bedroom  door 
opened,  and  a  pale  head,  with  glittering  eyes, 
made  its  appearance;  it  was  the  head  of  Shubin. 

"Nikolai  Artemievitch!"  he  shouted  at  the 
top  of  his  voice:— "  Augustina  Christianovna 
has  arrived,  and  summons  you  to  her!" 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  wheeled  round  in  a  tow- 
ering rage,  shook  his  fist  at  Shubin,  stood  still 
for  a  moment,  then  swiftly  left  the  room. 

Elena  fell  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  embraced 
her  knees. 

UvAR  IvANOviTCH  was  lying  on  his  bed.  A 
shirt  devoid  of  collar,  with  a  big  stud,  encircled 
his  fat  neck,  and  fell  in  broad,  loose  folds  on  his 
almost  feminine  breast,  leaving  a  large  cypress- 
wood  cross  and  an  amulet  disclosed  to  view.  A 
light  quilt  covered  his  vast  limbs.  A  candle 
burned  dimly  on  the  night-stand,  beside  a  jug 
of  home-brewed  beer,  and  at  Uvar  Ivanovitch's 
feet,  on  the  bed,  sat  the  dejected  Shubin. 

"Yes,"— he  was  saying  thoughtfully,— "  she 

228 


ON  THE  EVE 

is  married,  and  preparing  to  depart.  Your  nice 
little  nephew  kicked  up  a  row,  and  roared  so  that 
everybody  in  the  house  could  hear  him ;  he  locked 
himself  into  the  bedroom,  for  the  sake  of  privacy, 
but  not  only  the  lackeys  and  the  maids,— the 
very  coachmen  could  hear  him!  Now  he  is  tear- 
ing and  flinging  about,  he  almost  came  to  blows 
with  me,  and  he  is  rushing  around  nursing  his 
parental  malediction,  like  a  bear  his  sore  head; 
but  there  's  no  force  in  him.  Anna  Vasihevna 
is  overwhelmed,  but  she  is  far  more  grieved  over 
her  daughter's  departure  than  over  her  marriage." 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  wiggled  his  fingers. 

"A  mother," — said  he: — "well  .  .  .  you 
know  .  .  .  ." 

"  Your  nice  little  nephew," — pursued  Shiibin, 
"  threatens  to  complain  to  the  Metropolitan,  to 
the  Governor-General,  to  the  Minister,  but  it  will 
end  in  her  departure.  Who  finds  it  a  cheerful 
matter  to  ruin  his  only  daughter!  He  '11  crow 
for  a  while,  and  then  lower  his  tail." 

"  They  have  ...  no  right,"  remarked  Uvar 
Ivanovitch,  and  took  a  drink  from  the  jug. 

"  Exactly,  exactly.  And  what  a  thunder- 
cloud of  condemnation,  of  rumors,  of  gossip, 
will  arise  in  Moscow!  She  was  not  afraid  of 
them  ....  However,  she  is  above  them.  She 
is  going  away — and  whither!  it  is  terrible  even 
to  think  of  it!  To  what  a  distance,  to  what  a 
God-forsaken  place!     What  awaits  her  there? 

229 


ON  THE  EVE 

I  behold  her,  as  it  were,  leaving  a  posting-station 
by  night,  in  a  snow-storm,  with  the  temperature 
thirty  degrees  below  zero.  She  is  parting  with 
her  native  land,  with  her  family;  but  I  under- 
stand her.  Whom  is  she  leaving  behind  her 
here?  Whom  has  she  seen?  Kurnatovskys,  and 
BersenefFs,  and  the  like  of  us;  and  they  are  the 
best  of  the  lot.  Why  regret  it?  One  thing  is 
bad;  they  say  that  her  husband— the  devil 
knows,  my  tongue  can  hardly  get  around  that 
word— they  say  that  Insaroff  spits  blood;  that 
is  bad.  I  saw  him  the  other  day;  his  face  was 
such  that  one  might  model  Brutus  straight  from 

it Do  you  know  who  Brutus  was,  Uvar 

Ivanovitch? " 

"Why  shouldn't  I  know?    A  man." 

"  Precisely:  '  he  was  a  man.'  Yes,  a  magnifi- 
cent face,  but  unhealthy,  very  unhealthy." 

"  For  fighting  ...  it  makes  no  difference," 
said  Uvar  Ivanovitch. 

"  For  fighting,  it  makes  no  difference,  ex- 
actly so;  you  are  pleased  to  express  yourself 
with  perfect  justice  to-day;  but  for  living, 
it  does  make  a  difference.  And  I  suppose  he  and 
she  wish  to  live  together." 

"  It 's  the  way  of  young  people,"  replied  Uvar 
Ivanovitch. 

"  Yes,  it  's  a  young,  splendid,  fearless  way. 
Death,  life,  struggle,  fall,  triumph,  love,  free- 
dom, fatherland  ....  Good,  good.    God  grant 

230 


ON  THE  EVE 

it  to  every  one !  That 's  quite  another  thing  from 
sitting  in  a  marsh  up  to  your  neck,  and  trying 
to  assume  an  air  of  not  caring,  when,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  in  reahty  you  do  care.  But  there — 
the  strings  are  stretched  taut;  ring  out,  so  that 
all  the  world  may  hear,  or  break!  " 

Shiibin  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  after  a  long  silence, — "  In- 
sarofF  is  worthy  of  her.  But  what  nonsense! 
No  one  is  worthy  of  her.  InsarofF  ....  In- 
saroiF  ....  Why  this  false  submission?  Well, 
let  us  admit  that  he  is  young,  he  will  stand  up 
for  himself,  although,  so  far,  he  has  done  just 
the  same  as  the  rest  of  us  sinners,  and  it  can't  be 
possible,  can  it,  that  we  are  such  complete  trash? 
Come  now,  take  me,  for  instance, — am  I  trash, 
Uvar  Ivanovitch?  Has  God  denied  me  every 
good  quality?  Has  He  bestowed  on  me  no  abiU- 
ties,  no  talents  whatever?  Who  knows,  per- 
haps the  name  of  Pavel  Shubin  will  become  a 
glorious  name  in  the  course  of  time?  Here,  a 
copper  coin  is  lying  on  your  table.  Who  knows, 
perhaps,  some  time  or  other,  a  century  hence,  that 
coin  may  become  part  of  a  statue  of  Pavel  Shii- 
bin, erected  in  his  honour  by  a  grateful  poster- 
ity?  " 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  propped  himself  on  his  el- 
bow, and  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  artist,  who  had 
talked  himself  into  a  fever-heat. 

"  'T  is  a  long  cry,"— he  said,  at  last,  twiddling 

231 


ON  THE  EVE 

his  fingers,  as  usual:  "it  is  a  question  of  other 
people;  but  thou  .  .  .  seest  thou?  .  .  .  talkest 
about  thyself." 

"O  great  philosopher  of  the  Russian  land!" 
exclaimed  Shubin.— "  Every  word  of  yours  is 
pure  gold,  and  not  to  me,  but  to  you,  should  the 
statue  be  erected,  and  I  shall  set  about  it  myself. 
Here  now,  just  as  you  are  lying  at  the  present 
moment,  in  this  pose, — as  to  which  one  cannot 
say  whether  it  contains  most  of  laziness  or  of 
strength — just  so  will  I  cast  you.  You  have 
staggered  me  with  your  just  reproof  for  my 
egotism  and  my  self-conceit  I  Yes!  yes!  there  's 
no  use  in  talking  about  one's  self ;  there  's  no  use 
in  bragging.  There  is  no  one,  as  yet,  among 
us;  there  are  no  men,  look  where  you  will.  All 
are  either  small  fry,  or  squabblers,  petty  Ham- 
lets, cannibals,  either  underground  gloom  and 
thicket,  or  bullies,  empty  triflers,  and  drum- 
sticks! And  there  's  still  another  sort  of  men 
for  you:  they  have  studied  themselves  with  dis- 
graceful minuteness;  they  are  incessantly  feel- 
ing the  pulse  of  their  every  sensation,  and  re- 
porting to  themselves.  '  Here,'  say  they, '  is  what 
I  feel ;  this  is  what  I  think.'  A  useful,  practical 
occupation!  No,  if  we  had  any  able  men,  that 
young  girl,  that  sensitive  soul,  would  not  be 
leaving  us,  would  not  have  slipped  from  us,  like 
a  fish  into  the  water!    What  does  it  mean,  Uvar 

232 


ON  THE  EVE 

Ivanovitch?  When  is  our  time  coming?  When 
shall  we  bring  forth  men  in  our  land? " 

"  Give  us  time,"— replied  Uvar  Ivanovitch,— 
"  they  will  come." 

"They  will  come?  O  thou  soil!  thou  black- 
earth  force!  thou  hast  said:  '  They  will  come? ' 
Behold,  I  shall  put  thy  words  on  record.  But 
why  do  you  extinguish  your  candle? " 

"  I  'm  sleepy,— good-bye." 


233 


XXXI 

Shubin  spoke  the  truth.  The  unexpected  news 
of  Elena's  marriage  had  almost  killed  Anna 
Vasilievna.  She  took  to  her  bed.  Nikolai  Arte- 
mievitch  required  of  her,  that  she  should  not 
admit  her  daughter  within  her  sight;  he  seemed 
to  rejoice  at  the  opportunity  to  display  himself 
in  his  complete  importance  as  master  of  the 
house,  in  all  the  powers  of  the  head  of  the  fam- 
ily: he  blustered  and  thundered  uninterruptedly 
at  the  servants,  constantly  adding:  "I  '11  show 
you  who  I  am,  I  '11  let  you  know — just  wait!" 
As  long  as  he  remained  in  the  house,  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna did  not  see  Edena,  and  contented  herself 
with  the  presence  of  Zoya,  who  waited  upon  her 
with  great  assiduity,  and  meanwhile  thought 
to  herself:  "  Diesen  Insdroff  vorziehen—und 
mem? "  But  no  sooner  did  Nikolai  Artemie- 
vitch  absent  himself  (and  this  happened  with 
tolerable  frequency:  Augustma  Christianovna 
really  had  returned ) ,  than  Elena  presented  her- 
self before  her  mother,— and  the  latter  gazed  at 
her  long,  silently,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  This 
mute  reproach  pierced  Elena's  heart  more 
deeply  than  any  other;  she  did  not  feel  repen- 

234 


ON   THE  EVE 

tance  then,  but  profound,  infinite  compunction, 
akin  to  repentance. 

"Mamma,  dear  mamma!" — she  kept  repeat- 
ing, as  she  kissed  her  hands:  "what  could  I 
do?  I  am  not  to  blame,  I  fell  in  love  with 
him,  I  could  not  act  otherwise.  Blame  fate:  it 
brought  me  into  connection  with  a  man  whom 
papa  does  not  like,  who  will  take  me  away  from 
you." 

"  Okli ! "  Anna  Vasilievna  interrupted  her : 
— "  do  not  remind  me  of  that.  When  I  remem- 
ber where  it  is  that  thou  wishest  to  go,  my  heart 
fairly  sinks  in  my  breast!  " 

"  Dear  mamma,"  replied  Elena,—"  console 
thyself  at  least  with  this,  that  things  might  be 
still  worse:  I  might  have  died." 

"  But,  as  it  is,  I  have  no  hope  of  ever  seeing 
thee  again.  Either  thou  wilt  end  thy  life  yon- 
der, somewhere,  in  a  wigwam "  (Anna  Vasi- 
lievna pictured  Bulgaria  to  herself  as  something 
in  the  natui'e  of  the  Siberian  marshy  fens),  "  or 
I  shall  not  survive  the  separation " 

"  Do  not  say  that,  my  kind  mamma;  we  shall 
see  each  other  again,  God  willing.  But  there 
are  towns  in  Bulgaria,  just  like  those  here." 

"Towns,  indeed!  War  is  in  progress  there 
now;  now,  I  think,  wherever  one  may  go,  they 
are  firing  cannon  ....  Art  thou  preparing  to 
start  soon? " 

"  Yes  ...  if    only    papa  ....  He    means 

235 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  lodge  a  complaint,  he  threatens  to  separate 
us." 

Anna  Vasilievna  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  No,  Lenotchka,  he  will  not  lodge  a  com- 
plaint. I  myself  would  not  have  consented,  on 
any  terms  whatsoever,  to  this  marriage,  I  would 
sooner  have  died;  but  what  is  done  cannot  be 
undone,  and  I  will  not  allow  my  daughter  to 
be  disgraced." 

Several  days  passed  thus.  At  last  Anna  Vasi- 
lievna plucked  up  her  courage,  and  one  evening 
she  shut  herself  up  alone  with  her  husband  in  her 
bedroom.  Everybody  in  the  house  became  si- 
lent, and  lent  an  ear.  At  first,  nothing  was  au- 
dible; then  Nikolai  Artemievitch's  voice  began 
to  boom  out,  then  a  wrangle  ensued,  shouts  arose, 
the    listeners    even    thought    that    they    heard 

groans Shiibin,  in  company  with  Zoya 

and  the  maids,  was  already  on  the  point  of  going 
to  the  rescue,  but  the  uproar  in  the  bedroom 
began  gradually  to  diminish,  lapsed  into  conver- 
sation, and  ceased.  Only  from  time  to  time  did 
faint  sobs  resound— then  these  came  to  an  end. 
The  key  rattled,  the  squeak  of  a  bureau  being 
opened  resounded.  .  .  .  The  door  opened,  and 
Nikolai  Artemievitch  made  his  appearance.  He 
stared  morosely  at  all  whom  he  encountered,  and 
betook  himself  to  his  club;  but  Anna  Vasilievna 
summoned  Elena  to  her,  embraced  her  warmly, 
and,  shedding  bitter  tears,  said : 

236 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  Everything  is  settled,  he  will  not  make  a 
scandal,  and  nothing  now  hinders  thee  from 
going  away  ....  from  abandoning  us." 

"  Will  you  permit  Dmitry  to  come  and  thank 
you,"— Elena  asked  her  mother,  as  soon  as  the 
latter  had  regained  a  little  composure. 

"Wait,  my  darling;  I  cannot  see  the  man 
who  is  separating  us  yet.  There  is  plenty  of 
time  before  your  departure." 

"  Before  our  departure,"  repeated  Elena 
sadly. 

Nikolai  Artemievitch  had  consented  "  not  to 
make  a  scandal  " ;  but  Anna  Vasilievna  did  not 
tell  her  daughter  what  a  price  he  had  set  upon  his 
consent.  She  did  not  tell  her  that  she  had  prom- 
ised to  pay  all  his  debts,  and  had  given  him  in 
hand  one  thousand  rubles.  Over  and  above  this, 
he  had  informed  Anna  Vasilievna,  with  decision, 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  meet  InsarofF,  whom  he 
continued  to  call  a  Montenegrin;  and  when  he 
arrived  at  his  club,  he  began,  without  the  slight- 
est necessity  for  it,  to  talk  with  his  partner, 
a  retired  general,  about  Elena's  marriage. 
"  Have  you  heard,"  said  he,  with  feigned  care- 
lessness,—" that  my  daughter,  owing  to  her 
great  erudition,  has  married  some  sort  of  stu- 
dent? "  The  general  looked  at  him  through  his 
spectacles,  muttered,  "H'ml"  and  asked  him 
what  was  his  play. 


237 


XXXII 

But  the  day  of  departure  was  drawing  near. 
November  was  already  past;  the  last  days  of 
grace  had  expired.  InsarofF  had  long  ago  com- 
pleted all  his  preparations,  and  was  burning  with 
the  desire  to  tear  himself  away  from  Moscow  as 
speedily  as  possible.  And  the  doctor  urged  him 
to  haste.  *'  You  require  a  warm  climate,"  he  said 
to  him;  "  you  will  not  recover  your  health  here." 
Elena  was  overcome  with  impatience  also;  Insa- 
roff's  pallor,  his  thinness,  troubled  her.  She 
often  gazed  with  involuntary  alarm  at  his  al- 
tered features.  Her  position  in  her  father's 
house  had  become  intolerable.  Her  mother 
wailed  over  her,  as  over  a  corpse,  while  her  fa- 
ther treated  her  with  scornful  coldness:  the  ap- 
proaching parting  secretly  tortured  him  also,  but 
he  regarded  it  as  his  duty,  the  duty  of  an  in- 
jured father,  to  conceal  his  feelings,  his  weak- 
ness. At  last,  Anna  Vasilievna  expressed  a  wish 
to  see  Insaroff .  He  was  brought  to  her  quietly, 
by  the  back  door.  When  he  entered  her  room, 
she  was  unable,  for  a  long  time,  to  speak  to  him, 
she  could  not  even  bring  herself  to  look  at  him; 

238 


ON  THE  EVE 

he  sat  down  beside  her  arm-chair,  and  with  calm 
respect  awaited  her  first  word.  Elena  sat  there 
also,  holding  her  mother's  hand  in  hers.  At  last, 
Anna  Vasilievna  raised  her  eyes,  said,  "  God  is 
your  judge,  Dmitry  Nikanorovitch  ..."  and 
stopped  short :  the  reproaches  died  on  her  lips. 

"Why,  you  are  ill," — she  cried: — "Elena,  he 
is  ill!" 

"  I  have  been  ill,  Anna  Vasilievna,"  replied 
InsarofF, — "and  I  have  not  quite  recovered  my 
health  yet ;  but  I  hope  that  my  native  air  will  set 
me  eventually  on  my  feet." 

"  Yes  .  .  .  Bulgaria,"  stammered  Anna  Va- 
silievna, and  thought:  "My  God,  a  Bulgarian, 
a  dying  man,  a  voice  as  hollow  as  though  it 
came  from  a  cask,  eyes  sunk  in  his  head;  a 
regular  skeleton,  his  coat  hangs  on  him  as 
though  it  were  made  for  some  one  else ;  yellow  as 
camomile — and  she  is  his  wife,  she  loves  him 
.  .  .  .  why,  this  is  a  dream!  .  .  ."  But  she 
immediately  recovered  herself. — "Dmitry  Ni- 
kanorovitch," — she  said: — "is  it  indispensably 
— indispensably  necessary  that  you  should  go? " 

"  Yes,  Anna  Vasilievna." 

Anna  Vasilievna  looked  at  him. 

"  Okh,  Dmitry  Nikanorovitch,  God  grant  that 
you  may  never  experience  what  I  am  now  ex- 
periencing! .  .  .  But  you  will  promise  me  to 
take  good  care  of  her,  to  love  her  ....  You 
shall  never  suffer  want  as  long  as  I  am  living! " 

239 


ON  THE  EVE 

Tears  choked  her  voice.  She  opened  her  arms, 
and  Elena  and  InsaroiF  fell  on  her  breast. 

The  fatal  day  arrived  at  last.  It  was  arranged 
that  Elena  should  say  good-bye  to  her  parents 
at  home,  and  should  set  out  on  the  journey  from 
InsarofF's  lodgings.  The  departure  was  ap- 
pointed for  twelve  o'clock.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  that  time,  BerseneiF  arrived.  He 
had  supposed  that  he  would  find  at  InsarofF's 
lodgings  his  fellow-countrymen  who  would  wish 
to  see  him  off ;  but  they  had  all  already  gone  on 
ahead;  the  two  mysterious  persons  with  whom 
the  reader  is  already  acquainted  (they  had 
served  as  witnesses  at  InsarofF's  wedding)  had 
also  departed.  The  tailor  greeted  "  the  kind 
gentleman  "  with  a  bow ;  he  had  been  drinking 
heavily,  it  must  have  been  from  grief,  or,  pos- 
sibly, from  joy  that  he  was  to  get  the  furniture; 
his  wife  speedily  led  him  away.  Everything  was 
already  in  order  in  the  room;  a  trunk,  corded 
with  a  rope,  stood  on  the  floor.  BersenefF  fell  into 
thought:  many  memories  passed  through  his 
soul. 

It  was  long  after  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  pos- 
tilion had  already  brought  the  horses  to  the  door, 
but  "  the  young  pair  "  still  did  not  make  their 
appearance.  At  last,  hurried  footsteps  became 
audible  on  the  stairs,  and  Elena  entered,  accom- 
panied by  InsarofF  and  Shubin.     Elena's  eyes 

240 


ON  THE  EVE 

were  red:  she  had  left  her  mother  lying  in  a 
swoon;  their  parting  had  been  extremely  pain- 
ful. It  was  more  than  a  week  since  Elena  had 
seen  BerseneiF:  of  late,  he  had  gone  seldom 
to  the  StakhofFs.  She  had  not  expected  to 
meet  him,  exclaimed,  "You!  thanks!"  and 
threw  herself  on  his  neck;  Insaroff  also  em- 
braced him.  A  harrowing  silence  ensued.  What 
could  those  three  persons  say,  what  were  those 
three  hearts  feeling?  Shubin  comprehended  the 
imperative  necessity  of  putting  an  end  to  this 
anguish  by  a  living  sound,  a  word. 

"  Our  trio  has  assembled  together  once  more," 
—he  said— "for  the  last  time!  Let  us  submit 
to  the  decree  of  fate,  let  us  bear  in  mind  the 
good  times  that  are  past,  and  enter  upon  the  new 
hf e  with  God's  blessing !  '  God  bless  you  on 
your  distant  road,' "  he  struck  up,  and  stopped. 
He  suddenly  felt  ashamed  and  awkward.  It 
is  a  sin  to  sing  where  a  corpse  is  lying;  and,  at 
that  moment,  in  that  room,  that  past  died  to 
which  he  had  alluded,  the  past  of  the  people  who 
were  assembled  there.  It  died  for  the  regenera- 
tion of  a  new  life,  let  us  assume ;  .  .  .  but,  never- 
theless, it  died. 

"  Well,  Elena,"  began  InsaroiF,  addressing 
his  wife,—"  everything  is  ready,  I  think. 
Everything  is  paid  for,  packed.  Nothing  re- 
mains to  be  done,  except  to  carry  out  this  trunk. 
Landlord!" 

241 


ON  THE  EVE 

The  landlord  entered  the  room,  accompanied 
by  his  wife  and  daughter.  He  listened,  reeling 
slightly  as  he  did  so,  to  Insaroff' s  order,  threw 
the  trunk  on  his  shoulders,  and  ran  swiftly  down 
the  stairs,  clattering  his  boots  as  he  went. 

"  Now,  according  to  the  Russian  custom,  we 
must  sit  down,"  remarked  Insaroff. 

They  all  seated  themselves:  Berseneff  placed 
himself  on  the  little  old  couch;  Elena  sat  down 
beside  him;  the  landlady  and  her  little  daughter 
squatted  down  on  the  threshold.  All  became  si- 
lent; all  were  smiling  in  a  constrained  way,  and 
no  one  knew  why  he  was  smiling;  each  one 
wanted  to  say  something  by  way  of  good-bye, 
and  each  one  (with  the  exception,  of  course,  of 
the  landlady  and  her  daughter:  they  merely 
stared  with  all  their  might)  —each  felt  that  at 
such  moments  it  is  permissible  to  say  nothing 
but  commonplaces,  that  any  significant,  or  witty, 
or  even  cordial  word  would  be,  somehow,  out  of 
place,  would  almost  have  a  false  ring.  Insaroff 
was  the  first  to  rise  to  his  feet  and  begin  to 
cross  himself  .  .  .  .  "  Farewell,  our  dear  little 
room!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Kisses  resounded,  the  loud  but  cold  kisses  of 
parting,  good  wishes  for  the  journey  half  ut- 
tered, promises  to  write,  the  last,  half -stifled 
words  of  farewell  .... 

Elena,  all  bathed  in  tears,  had  already  taken 
her  seat  in  the  travelling-sledge;  Insaroff  was 

242 


ON  THE  EVE 

carefully  tucking  the  lap -robe  around  her  feet; 
Shiibin,  BersenefF,  the  landlord,  his  wife,  his 
little  daughter  with  the  inevitable  kerchief  on 
her  head,  the  yard-porter,  a  strange  artisan  in 
a  striped  kaftan — were  all  standing  on  the  front 
steps,  when,  suddenly,  into  the  courtyard  dashed 
an  elegant  sledge,  di'awn  by  a  high-stepping 
trotter,  and  from  the  sledge,  shaking  the  snow 
from  the  collar  of  his  coat,  sprang  out  Nikolai 
Artemievitch. 

"I  have  found  you  still  here,  thank  God!" 
he  exclaimed,  and  hurried  to  the  travelling- 
sledge.— "  Here,  Elena,  is  our  last  parental 
blessing  for  thee," — he  said,  bending  down 
under  the  hood,  and  pulling  from  the  pocket  of 
his  coat  a  small  holy  picture,  sewn  into  a  velvet 
bag,  he  put  it  round  her  neck.  She  burst  out 
sobbing,  and  began  to  kiss  his  hands,  and  in  the 
meantime  his  coaclmian  drew  out  from  the  front 
part  of  the  sledge  a  bottle  of  champagne  and 
three  glasses. 

"Come!"  said  Nikolai  Artemievitch,— but 
his  own  tears  were  fairly  trickling  down  on  the 
beaver  collar  of  his  coat, — "  we  must  give  you 
a  send-ofF  .  .  .  and  wish  .  .  .  ."  he  began  to 
pour  out  the  champagne;  his  hands  shook,  the 
foam  rose  over  the  rim  and  dripped  on  the  snow. 
He  took  one  glass,  and  gave  the  other  two  to 
Elena  and  InsarofF,  who  had  already  taken  his 
place  by  her  side.—"  God  grant  you  ..."  be- 

243 


ON  THE  EVE 

gan  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  and  could  not  finish 
his  sentence— and  drank  off  his  wine;  they  also 
drank  theirs.—"  Now  it  is  your  turn,  gentle- 
men," he  said,  addressing  Shiibin  and  BersenefF, 
—but  at  that  moment  the  postilion  started  his 
horses.  Nikolai  Artemievitch  ran  along  by  the 
side  of  the  sledge.  "See  that  thou  writest  to 
us," — he  said  in  a  broken  voice.  Elena  thrust 
out  her  head,  said,  "  Good-bye,  papa,  Andrei 
Petrovitch,  Pavel  Yakovlevitch ;  good-bye,  all; 
good-bye,  Russia!  "  and  threw  herself  back.  The 
postilion  flourished  his  whip  and  whistled;  the 
travelling-sledge  turned  to  the  right  after  it  had 
passed  the  gate,  its  runners  squeaking  as  it  did 
so,  and  vanished. 


244 


XXXIII 

It  was  a  brilliant  April  day.  Along  the  broad 
lagoon  which  separates  Venice  from  the  narrow 
strip  of  alluvial  sea-sand  called  the  Lido,  a  sharp- 
beaked  gondola  was  skimming  along,  rocking  in 
cadence  at  every  surge  which  fell  on  the  gondo- 
lier's long  oar.  Beneath  its  low  roof,  on  soft 
leather  cushions,  sat  Elena  and  Insaroff . 

Elena's  features  had  not  altered  much  since 
the  day  of  her  departure  from  Moscow ;  but  their 
expression  had  become  different:  it  was  more 
thoughtful  and  stern,  and  her  eyes  looked  forth 
more  boldly.  Her  whole  body  had  blossomed 
out,  and  her  hair  seemed  to  lie  in  more  splendid 
and  luxuriant  masses  along  her  white  brow  and 
her  rosy  cheeks.  Only  in  her  lips,  when  she  was 
not  smiling,  there  was  expressed,  by  a  barely  per- 
ceptible fold,  the  presence  of  a  secret,  ever-pres- 
ent anxiety.  The  expression  of  InsarofF's  face, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  remained  the  same  as  of 
yore,  but  his  features  had  undergone  a  cruel 
change.  He  had  grown  haggard  and  old,  he 
had  grown  pale  and  bent;  he  coughed  almost  in- 
cessantly, with  a  short,  dry  cough;  and  his 
sunken  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  glare. 

245 


ON  THE  EVE 

On  the  road  from  Russia,  Insaroff  had  lain 
ill  for  nearly  two  months  at  Vienna,  and  only  at 
the  end  of  March  had  he  arrived  with  his  wife 
at  Venice:  thence  he  hoped  to  make  his  way 
through  Zara  to  Servia  and  Bulgaria;  all  other 
roads  were  closed  to  him.  War  was  already  rag- 
ing on  the  Danube,— England  and  France  had 
declared  war  on  Russia,— all  the  Slavonic  lands 
were  seething  and  preparing  to  rise  in  revolt. 

The  gondola  landed  on  the  inner  edge  of  the 
Lido.  Elena  and  Insaroff  wended  their  way 
along  the  narrow  sandy  path,  planted  with  con- 
sumptive little  trees  (they  are  planted  every 
year,  and  every  year  they  die ) ,  to  the  outer  edge 
of  the  Lido,  to  the  sea. 

They  strolled  along  the  shore.  The  Adriatic 
rolled  before  them  its  dull-blue  waves;  they 
were  foaming,  hissing,  running  up  on  the  shore, 
and  flowing  back,  leaving  behind  them  on  the 
sand  tiny  shells  and  fragments  of  seaweed. 

"What  a  melancholy  place!"  remarked 
Elena.  "  I  'm  afraid  it  is  too  cold  for  thee,  but 
I  can  guess  why  thou  hast  wished  to  come 
hither." 

"Cold!"  returned  Insaroff,  with  a  swift  but 
bitter  laugh.  "  A  pretty  soldier  I  shall  be,  if  I 
am  to  fear  the  cold.  And  I  have  come  hither  .  .  . 
I  will  tell  thee  why.  I  gaze  at  this  sea,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  from  here  my  native  land  is 
nearer.      It    lies    yonder,    thou    knowest,"— he 

246 


ON  THE  EVE 

added,  stretching  out  his  hand  toward  the  East. 
— "  And  the  wind  is  blowing  from  that  direc- 
tion." 

"  Is  not  this  wind  bringing  in  the  vessel  which 
thou  art  expecting?"  said  Elena:  — "  yonder  is 
a  sail  gleaming  white, — can  that  be  it?  " 

InsarofP  gazed  out  on  the  distant  sea,  in  the 
direction  indicated  by  Elena. 

"  Renditch  promised  that  he  would  arrange 
everything  for  us  in  the  course  of  a  week,"  he 
remarked.  "  I  think  we  can  rely  upon  him  .... 
Hast  thou  heard,  Elena?  "  he  added,  with  sudden 
animation: — "they  say  that  the  poor  Dalmatian 
fishermen  have  contributed  their  lead  sinkers— 
thou  knowest,  those  weights  which  make  the  net 
fall  to  the  bottom— for  bullets!  They  had  no 
money,  and  their  only  means  of  livelihood  is 
their  fishing;  but  they  joyfully  surrendered  their 
last  resource,  and  now  they  are  starving.  What 
a  race! " 

"  Aufgepasst!"  shouted  an  arrogant  voice 
behind  them.  The  dull  trampling  of  horses' 
hoofs  resounded,  and  an  Austrian  officer,  in 
a  short  grey  tunic  and  a  green  military  cap, 
galloped  past  them  ....  They  barely  managed 
to  get  out  of  the  way. 

Insaroff  stared  gloomily  after  him. 

"  He  is  not  to  blame,"— said  Elena,—"  thou 
knowest,  they  have  no  other  place  here  where 
they  can  ride." 

247 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  He  is  not  to  blame,"— returned  InsarofF,— 
"  but  he  has  set  my  blood  to  boiling  with  his  shout, 
his  moustache,  his  cap,  with  liis  whole  appearance. 
Let  us  go  back." 

"  Yes,  let  us  go  back,  Dmitry.  Besides,  it 
really  is  windy  here.  Thou  didst  not  take  care 
of  thyself  after  thy  Moscow  illness,  and  didst 
pay  for  it  in  Vienna.  Thou  must  be  more  care- 
ful now." 

InsarofF  made  no  reply,  but  the  same  bitter 
sneer  as  before  flitted  across  his  lips. 

"  Let  us  have  a  row  on  the  Canal  Grande, 
shall  we  not?  "—went  on  Elena.  "  For  during 
all  the  time  we  have  been  here,  we  have  never  yet 
had  a  good  look  at  Venice.  And  let  us  go  to 
the  theatre  this  evening:  I  have  two  tickets  for 
a  box.  We  will  devote  this  day  to  each  other, 
we  will  forget  politics,  war,  everything,  we  will 
know  only  one  thing :  that  we  are  living,  breath- 
ing, thinking  together,  that  we  are  united  for- 
ever   Shall  we? " 

"  Thou  wishest  it,  Elena,"— replied  Insaroff, 
— "  consequently,  I  wish  it  also." 

"  I  knew  it,"— remarked  Elena,  with  a  smile. 
— "  Come  along,  come  along." 

They  returned  to  the  gondola,  seated  them- 
selves in  it,  and  ordered  the  man  to  row  them,  in 
a  leisurely  way,  along  the  Canal  Grande. 

Any  one  who  has  not  seen  Venice  in  April 
can  hardly  be  said  to  be  acquainted  with  all  the 

248 


ON  THE  EVE 

indescribable  charms  of  that  enchanted  city. 
The  mildness  and  softness  of  spring  become 
Venice,  as  the  brilliant  summer  sun  becomes 
magnificent  Genoa,  as  the  gold  and  purple  of  au- 
tumn become  the  grand  old  city,— Rome.  Like 
the  spring,  the  beauty  of  Venice  touches  and 
arouses  the  desire:  it  pains  and  torments  the  in- 
experienced heart,  like  the  promise  of  a  non- 
enigmatic  but  mysterious  happiness  near  at 
hand.  Everything  in  it  is  bright,  comprehen- 
sible, and  everything  is  enwrapped  in  a  dreamy 
haze  of  a  sort  of  love-stricken  silence:  every- 
thing in  it  holds  its  peace,  and  everything 
breathes  a  welcome;  everything  in  it  is  feminine, 
beginning  with  its  very  name:  not  for  nothing 
has  to  it  alone  been  given  the  title  of  "  The 
Beautiful."  The  huge  masses  of  the  palaces 
and  churches  stand  light  and  splendid,  like  the 
beautiful  dream  of  a  young  god;  there  is  some- 
thing fabulous,  something  enchantingly  strange 
in  the  green-grey  gleam  and  the  silken  play 
of  hues  of  the  dumb  water  in  the  canals,  in 
the  noiseless  flight  of  the  gondolas,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  harsh  city  sounds,  of  coarse  pounding, 
rattling,  and  uproar.  "  Venice  is  dying,  Venice 
is  deserted,"  its  inhabitants  say  to  you;  but  per- 
chance all  she  needs  is  this  very  last  charm, 
the  charm  of  fading  in  the  very  bloom  and  tri- 
umph of  her  beauty.  He  wlio  has  not  seen  her, 
does    not    know    her:    neither    Canaletto    nor 

249 


ON  THE  EVE 

Guardi— not  to  mention  the  more  modern  ar- 
tists— is  capable  of  reproducing  that  silvery 
tenderness  of  the  air,  that  fleeting  and  near- 
lying  distance,  that  wonderful  combination  of 
the  most  elegant  outlines  and  melting  beauties. 
It  is  useless  for  the  man  who  has  ended  his 
career,  who  has  been  broken  by  life,  to  visit 
Venice:  it  will  be  bitter  to  him,  like  the  memory 
of  unfulfilled  dreams  of  his  earliest  days;  but 
it  will  be  sweet  for  him  in  whom  the  forces  are 
still  seething,  who  feels  himself  fortunate;  let 
him  bring  his  happiness  beneath  her  enchanted 
sky,  and  no  matter  how  radiant  it  may  be,  she 
will  gild  it  still  more  with  her  never-fading  aure- 
ole. The  gondola  in  which  sat  InsarofF  and 
Elena  floated  softly  past  the  Riva  dei  Schiavoni, 
the  Palace  of  the  Doges,  the  Piazzetta,  and  en- 
tered the  Canal  Grande.  On  both  sides  stretched 
marble  palaces ;  they  appeared  to  be  gliding  softly 
past,  hardly  affording  the  glance  an  opportu- 
nity to  embrace  and  comprehend  their  beauties. 
Elena  felt  profoundly  happy;  in  the  azure  of 
her  heaven  one  dark  cloud  had  hung — and  it 
had  departed:  InsarofF  was  much  better  that 
day.  They  went  as  far  as  the  sharp  arch  of  the 
Rialto,  and  turned  back.  Elena  was  afraid  of 
the  cold  in  the  churches,  for  Insaroff ;  but  she 
remembered  the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti, 
and  ordered  the  gondolier  to  proceed  thither. 
They  had  soon  made  the  round  of  all  the  halls 

250 


ON  THE  EVE 

of  that  small  museum.  Being  neither  connois- 
seurs nor  dilettanti,  they  did  not  pause  before 
every  picture,  they  did  not  force  themselves:  a 
sort  of  brilliant  cheerfulness  had  unexpectedly 
taken  possession  of  them.  Everything  suddenly 
seemed  to  them  very  amusing.  (Children  are 
familiar  with  that  feeling.)  To  the  great  scan- 
dal of  three  English  visitors,  Elena  laughed 
aloud,  until  tears  came,  over  Tintoretto's  "  Saint 
Mark"  leaping  down  from  heaven  into  the  water, 
like  a  frog,  to  the  rescue  of  a  tortured  slave;  on 
his  side,  InsarofF  went  into  ecstasies  over  the 
back  and  calves  of  the  energetic  man  in  the 
green  mantle  who  stands  in  the  foreground  of 
Titian's  "  Ascension,"  and  raises  his  hand  after 
the  Madonna ;  on  the  other  hand,  that  same  Ma- 
donna, a  beautiful  robust  woman  calmly  and 
majestically  ascending  to  the  bosom  of  God  the 
Father,  impressed  both  InsarofF  and  Elena; 
they  liked  also  the  severe  and  holy  picture  of  the 
old  man  Cima  da  Conegliano.  On  emerging 
from  the  academy,  they  once  more  glanced 
round  at  the  Englishmen,  with  long,  rabbit's 
teeth  and  drooping  side-whiskers,  who  were 
walking  behind  them, — and  broke  out  laughing; 
they  caught  sight  of  their  gondolier  with  his  bob- 
tailed  jacket  and  short  trousers,— and  laughed; 
they  saw  a  huckstress  with  a  little  knot  of  grey 
hair  on  the  crown  of  her  head,— and  laughed 
harder  than  ever;  at  last,  they  looked  one  an- 

251 


ON  THE  EVE 

other  in  the  face,— and  roared  with  laughter;  and 
as  soon  as  they  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  gon- 
dola, they  clasped  each  other's  hands  very,  very 
tight.  They  reached  the  hotel,  ran  to  their  room, 
and  ordered  dinner  to  be  served.  Their  mer- 
riment did  not  desert  them  even  at  table.  They 
helped  each  other  to  food,  they  drank  to  the 
health  of  their  Moscow  friends,  they  clapped 
their  hands  at  the  cameriere  for  the  savoury  dish 
of  fish,  and  kept  demanding  of  him  live  frutti  di 
mare;  the  cameriere  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
bowed,  but  when  he  left  the  room  he  shook  his 
head,  and  even  whispered  with  a  sigh:  '' Pover- 
etti!"  ("Poor  things!")  After  dinner  they 
went  to  the  theatre. 

At  the  theatre  one  of  Verdi's  operas  was  being 
played,  a  decidedly  commonplace  affair,  to  tell 
the  truth,  but  one  which  had  already  managed  to 
make  the  round  of  all  the  stages  in  Europe,  and  is 
well  known  to  us  Russians—"  Traviata."  The 
season  in  Venice  was  over,  and  none  of  the  sing- 
ers rose  above  the  level  of  mediocrity;  each  one 
shrieked  with  all  his  might.  The  part  of  Vio- 
letta  was  sung  by  a  petty  artist  who  had  no 
reputation,  and,  judging  by  the  coldness  of  the 
audience  toward  her,  she  was  not  a  favourite,  al- 
though not  devoid  of  talent.  She  was  a  young, 
not  very  pretty,  black  -  eyed  girl,  with  a 
voice  which  was  not  quite  even  and  already 
cracked.     Her  costume  was  motley  and  bad  to 

252 


ON  THE  EVE 

the  point  of  absurdity:  a  red  net  covered  her 
hair,  her  gown  of  faded  blue  satin  compressed 
her  bosom,  thick  undressed  kid  gloves  reached 
to  her  sharp  elbows ;  and  how  was  she,  the  daugh- 
ter of  some  Bergamo  shepherd,  to  know  how  the 
demi-mondaines  of  Paris  dress!  And  she  did 
not  know  how  to  carry  herself  on  the  stage ;  but 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  and  artless  sim- 
plicity in  her  acting,  and  she  sang  with  that 
peculiar  passion  of  expression  and  rhythm  of 
which  Italians  alone  are  capable.  Elena  and  In- 
sarofF  sat  alone  in  a  dark  box,  close  to  the  stage ; 
the  frolicsome  mood  which  had  come  over  them  in 
the  Accademia  delle  Belle  Arti  had  not  yet  passed 
off.  When  the  father  of  the  unhappy  young  man 
who  had  fallen  into  the  toils  of  the  temptress 
made  his  appearance  on  the  stage,  in  a  greenish- 
grey  dress-suit  and  a  rmnpled  white  wig, 
opened  his  mouth  askew,  and,  seized  in  advance 
with  stage-fright,  emitted  a  mournful  bass  trem- 
olo,   both    of   them    came    near   bursting   with 

laughter But  Violettas  acting  affected 

them. 

"  They  hardly  applaud  that  poor  girl  at  all," 
said  Elena, — "  but  I  prefer  her  a  thousand  times 
over  to  any  self-confident,  second-rate  celebrity, 
who  would  put  on  airs,  and  writhe,  and  strive 
after  effect.  Apparently,  this  one  does  not  take 
it  as  a  jest  herself;  see,  she  does  not  perceive  the 
audience." 

253 


ON  THE  EVE 

Insaroff  leaned  on  the  edge  of  the  box,  and 
gazed  intently  at  Violetta. 

"  Yes,"— he  muttered,— "  she  is  not  jesting: 
she  reeks  of  death." 

Elena  held  her  peace. 

The  third  act  began.    The  curtain  rose 

Elena  shuddered  at  sight  of  the  bed,  of  the 
curtains  hung  about  it,  of  the  medicine-bottles, 
of  the  shaded  lamp  .  .  .  She  recalled  the  recent 
past  .  .  .  .  "  And  the  future?  And  the  pres- 
ent? "  flashed  through  her  mind.  As  though  ex- 
pressly in  reply  to  the  simulated  cough  of  the 
singer,   InsarofF's  dull,  unfeigned   cough  rang 

out  in  the  box Elena  shot  a  stealthy 

glance  at  him,  and  immediately  imparted  to  her 
features  a  tranquil,  composed  expression.  In- 
saroff understood  her,  and  he  himself  began  to 
smile,  and  almost  to  hum  an  accompaniment  to 
the  singing. 

But  he  soon  stopped.  Violetta  s  acting  grew 
better  and  better,  more  and  more  free.  She  re- 
jected everything  irrelevant,  everything  that 
was  not  necessary,  and  found  herself:  rare  and 
loftiest  happiness  of  the  artist!  She  suddenly 
crossed  the  line  which  it  is  impossible  to  define, 
but  on  the  farther  side  of  which  dwells  beauty. 
The  audience  was  startled,  amazed.  The  homely 
girl  with  the  cracked  voice  was  beginning  to  get 
them  into  her  hands,  to  take  possession  of  them. 
And    the    singer's    voice    no    longer    sounded 

254> 


ON  THE  EVE 

cracked:  it  had  warmed  up  and  grown  strong. 
Alfredo  made  his  appearance;  Violettas  joyful 
cry  aknost  aroused  that  storm  whose  name 
is  fanatis7riOj,  and  in  the  presence  of  which 
all  our  Northern  howls  are  as  nothing  ....  A 
moment  more— and  the  audience  subsided.  The 
duet  began,  the  best  number  in  the  opera,  in 
which  the  composer  has  succeeded  in  expressing 
all  the  regrets  of  madly  wasted  youth,  the  last 
struggle  of  desperate  and  impotent  love.  Car- 
ried away,  swept  on  by  the  breath  of  general 
sympathy,  with  tears  of  artistic  joy  and  of 
genuine  suffering  in  her  eyes,  the  songstress  sur- 
rendered herself  to  the  flood  which  had  raised 
her  on  its  crest,  her  face  became  transfigured, 
and  in  the  presence  of  suddenly  approaching 
death,  with  an  outburst  of  entreaty  which 
reached  to  heaven,  the  words  were  wrung  from 
her :  "  Lascia  mi  vivere  .  .  .  morir  si  giovane! " 
("  Let  me  live  ...  to  die  so  young!  ") ,  and  the 
whole  theatre  pealed  with  the  applause  of  fren- 
zied clapping  and  rapturous  shouts. 

Elena  had  turned  cold  all  over.  She  began 
gently  to  seek  with  her  hand  the  hand  of  In- 
sarofF,  found  it,  and  clasped  it  tightly.  He  re- 
turned her  pressure ;  but  she  did  not  look  at  him, 
neither  did  he  look  at  her.  This  pressure  did 
not  resemble  the  one  with  which,  a  few  hours 
earlier,  they  had  greeted  each  other  in  the  gon- 
dola. 

255 


ON  THE  EVE 

They  rowed  to  their  hotel  along  the  Canal 
Grande  again.  Night  had  already  set  in,— the 
bright,  soft  night.  The  same  palaces  stretched 
forth  to  meet  them,  but  they  seemed  different. 
Those  of  them  which  were  illmninated  by  the 
moon  shone  golden  white,  and  in  that  very  white- 
ness the  details  of  the  decorations  and  the  out- 
lines of  windows  and  balconies  seemed  to  dis- 
appear; they  stood  out  more  distinctly  on  the 
buildings  flooded  with  the  light  mist  of  the  level 
shadow.  The  gondolas,  with  their  tiny  red 
lights,  seemed  to  glide  along  more  inaudibly  and 
swiftly  than  ever;  mysteriously  gleamed  their 
steel  beaks,  mysteriously  did  the  oars  rise  and 
fall  on  the  troubled  ripples  like  tiny  silver  fishes ; 
here  and  there,  the  gondoHers  uttered  brief,  not 
loud  cries  (they  never  sing  nowadays)  ;  almost 
no  other  sounds  were  audible.  The  hotel  where 
InsarofF  and  Elena  were  living  was  on  the  Riva 
dei  Schiavoni;  before  reaching  it,  they  left  the 
gondola,  and  walked  several  times  around  the 
Square  of  San  Marco  beneath  the  arcade,  where, 
in  front  of  the  tiny  cafes,  a  multitude  of  holiday- 
makers  was  thronging.  There  is  something 
peculiarly  agreeable  about  walking  alone,  with 
a  beloved  being,  in  a  strange  city,  among  stran- 
gers :  everything  seems  most  beautiful  and  signif- 
icant, one  wishes  everybody  good,  and  peace,  and 
the  same  happiness  wherewith  one  is  one's  self 
filled.    But  Elena  could  no  longer  give  herself 

256 


ON  THE  EVE 

up  without  anxiety  to  the  consciousness  of  her 
happiness:  her  heart,  shaken  by  recent  impres- 
sions, could  not  recover  its  composure;  and  In- 
sarofF,  as  they  passed  the  Palace  of  the  Doges, 
pointed,  in  silence,  to  the  mouths  of  the  Austrian 
cannon,  peeping  out  from  beneath  the  low- 
browed arches,  and  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes.  Besides,  he  felt  fatigued,— and,  bestow- 
ing a  last  glance  on  the  Church  of  San  Marco,  on 
its  domes,  where,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  moon 
spots  of  phosphorescent  light  were  kindled  on 
the  bluish  leads,  they  slowly  wended  their  way 
homeward. 

The  windows  of  their  little  chamber  looked 
out  on  the  broad  lagoon  which  extends  from  the 
Riva  dei  Schiavoni  to  the  Giudecca.  Almost 
directly  opposite  their  hotel  rose  the  sharp- 
pointed  tower  of  San  Giorgio ;  on  the  right,  high 
in  the  air,  glittered  the  golden  globe  of  the 
Dogana;  and  decked  out  like  bride  stood  the 
most  beautiful  of  churches,  the  Redentore  of 
Palladius;  on  the  left  the  masts  and  yards  of 
ships,  the  smoke-stacks  of  steamers,  were  out- 
lined in  black;  here  and  there,  like  a  huge  wing, 
hung  a  half -reefed  sail,  the  pennants  barely  stir- 
ring. Insaroff  seated  himself  at  the  window, 
but  Elena  did  not  permit  him  to  enjoy  the  view 
for  long;  fever  suddenly  made  its  appearance, 
and  a  sort  of  devouring  weakness  seized  upon 
him.     She  put  him  to  bed,  and  waiting  until  he 

257 


ON  THE  EVE 

fell  asleep,  she  softly  returned  to  the  window. 
Oh,  how  still  and  caressing  was  the  night,  what 
dovelike  gentleness  did  the  azure  air  breathe 
forth,  how  ought  every  suffering,  every  sorrow, 
to  hold  its  peace  and  lapse  into  slumber  beneath 
these  holy  innocent  rays!  "Oh,  my  God!" 
thought  Elena,— "why  does  death  exist,  why  is 
there  parting,  illness,  tears?  or  why  this  beauty, 
this  delightful  feeling  of  hope,  why  the  soothing 
consciousnss  of  a  sure  refuge,  of  deathless  pro- 
tection? What  means  this  smiling,  benevolent 
heaven,  this  happy,  resting  earth?  Can  it  be 
that  this  is  only  in  us,  and  that  outside  of  us 
is  eternal  cold  and  silence?  Can  it  be  that  we 
are  alone  ....  alone  ....  while  yonder, 
everywhere,  in  all  those  impenetrable  abysses 
and  depths, — everything,  everything  is  alien  to 
us?  Why  then  this  yearning  for  and  delight 
in  prayer?  "  {''  Moiir  si  giovane!"  resounded  in 
her  soul. )  .  .  .  .  "  Can  it  be,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  implore,  to  bring  back  happiness?  .  .  .  O 
God !  can  it  be,  that  it  is  impossible  to  believe  in  a 
miracle?"  She  bowed  her  head  on  her  clasped 
hands.  "  Is  it  ended?  "  she  whispered.  "Can  it  be 
that  it  is  at  an  end !  I  have  been  happy,  not  min- 
utes, not  hours,  not  whole  days— no,  whole  weeks 
in  succession.  And  by  what  right?  "  Her  happi- 
ness frightened  her.  "  And  what  if  it  cannot 
be?"  she  thought.  "What  if  this  is  not  to  be 
had  without  paying  for  it?    For  it  has  been  hea- 

258 


ON  THE  EVE 

ven  ....  and  we  mortals,  poor,  sinful  mortals 
....  Morir  si  giovane!  .  .  .  O,  dark  spectre, 
begone !  not  for  me  alone  is  his  life  necessary ! 

"  But  what  if  this  is — a  punishment?  " — she 
thought  again;  "what  if  we  must  now  pay  the 
full  price  for  our  fault?  My  conscience  held 
its  peace,  it  is  silent  now,  but  is  that  any  proof 
of  innocence?  O  God,  can  we  have  been  so 
very  wicked?  Can  it  be  that  Thou,  who  hast 
created  this  night,  this  sky,  wilt  chastise  us  for 
having  loved?  And  if  it  be  so,  if  he  be  guilty, 
if  I  am  guilty," — she  added,  in  an  involuntary 
outburst, — "  then  grant,  O  God,  that  he  may  die, 
that  we  may  both  die,  at  least  an  honourable, 
a  glorious  death — yonder,  in  the  fields  of  his 
fatherland,  but  not  here,  not  in  this  obscure 
room! 

"  And  how  about  the  grief  of  my  poor,  lonely 
mother?"  she  asked  herself,  and  became  con- 
fused, and  found  no  reply  to  her  own  question. 
Elena  did  not  know  that  the  happiness  of  every 
mortal  is  founded  on  the  unhappiness  of  another, 
that  even  his  advantage  and  comfort  demand — 
as  a  stature  demands  a  pedestal— the  disadvan- 
tage and  discomfort  of  others. 

"Renditch!"  muttered  InsaroiF  in  his  sleep. 

Elena  went  to  him  on  tiptoe,  bent  over  him, 
and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  He 
tossed  about  a  little  on  his  pillow,  and  quieted 
down. 

259 


ON  THE  EVE 

She  returned  to  the  window,  and  again  medi- 
tations engrossed  her.  She  began  to  persuade 
herself,  and  assure  herself  that  there  was  no 
cause  for  alarm.  She  even  felt  ashamed  of  her 
weakness.  "  Can  there  be  any  danger?  Is  not 
he  better?  "  she  whispered.  "  Why,  if  we  had 
not  been  to  the  theatre  to-night,  all  this  would 
never  have  entered  my  mind."  At  that  moment 
she  espied,  high  above  the  water,  a  white  sea-gull ; 
some  fisherman  had,  probably,  frightened  it, 
and  it  was  soaring  silently,  with  uneven  flight, 
as  though  looking  out  for  a  place  where  it  could 
alight.  "  There  now,  if  it  flies  hither,"  thought 
Elena,  "  it  will  be  a  good  sign."  ....  The  sea- 
gull circled  slowly  in  one  spot,  folded  its  wings, 
and,  as  though  it  had  been  shot,  fell,  with  a 
pitiful  cry,  somewhere  far  away,  on  a  dark  ship. 
Elena  shuddered,  and  then  felt  ashamed  for 
having  shuddered.  And,  without  undressing, 
she  lay  down  on  the  bed  beside  Insaroff,  who 
was  breathing  fast  and  heavily. 


260 


XXXIV 

Insaroff  awoke  late,  with  a  dull  pain  in  his 
head,  with  a  feeling,  as  he  expressed  it,  of  horri- 
ble weakness  all  over  his  body.  Nevertheless, 
he  rose. 

"  Renditch  has  not  come?  "  was  his  first  ques- 
tion. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Elena,  and  gave  him  the 
last  number  of  the  Osservatore  Triestino,  in 
which  a  great  deal  was  said  about  the  war,  about 
the  Slavonic  lands,  about  the  principalities.  In- 
saroff began  to  read ;  she  busied  herself  with  pre- 
paring coffee  for  him  ....  Some  one  knocked 
at  the  door. 

"  Renditch,"  thought  both  of  them,  but  the 
person  who  had  knocked  said  in  Russian:  "  May 
I  come  in?"  Elena  and  Insaroff  exchanged  a 
glance  of  astonishment,  and,  without  waiting 
for  their  answer,  there  entered  the  room  a  fop- 
pishly-attired man  with  a  small,  pointed  face 
and  bold  little  eyes.  He  was  beaming  all  over, 
as  though  he  had  just  won  a  huge  sum  of  money 
or  had  heard  a  pleasing  piece  of  news. 

Insaroff  half -rose  from  his  chair. 

261 


ON  THE  EVE 

"  You  do  not  recognise  me," — began  the 
stranger,  advancing  to  him  in  a  free  and  easy 
manner,  and  bowing  amiably  to  Elena. — "  Lu- 
poyarofF,  you  remember  ?  We  met  in  Moscow,  at 
the  E  .  .  .  s." 

"  Yes,  at  the  E  .  .  .  s,"  said  InsarofF. 

"  Of  course,  of  course!  I  beg  that  you  will 
present  me  to  your  wife.  Madame,  I  have  al- 
ways cherished  a  profound  respect  for  Dmitry 
Vasilievitch  .  .  .  .  "—  (he  corrected  himself)  : 
"  Nikanor  Vasilievitch,— and  am  very  happy 
that,  at  last,  I  have  the  honour  of  making  your 
acquaintance.  Just  imagine,"  he  went  on,  turn- 
ing to  Insaroff — "  I  learned  only  last  night  that 
you  were  here.  I,  also,  am  stopping  in  this  ho- 
tel. What  a  city  this  Venice  is— poetry  itself, 
and  that 's  all  there  is  to  it !  There  's  one  fright- 
ful thing  about  it:  these  cursed  Austrians  at 
every  step! — I  can't  abide  the  Austrians!  By 
the  way,  have  you  heard  that  a  decisive  battle 
has  taken  place  on  the  Danube:  three  hundred 
Turkish  officers  have  been  killed,  Silistria  has 
been  captured,  Servia  has  already  declared  her- 
self independent, — you,  as  a  patriot,  ought  to  be 
in  raptures,  ought  n't  you?  The  Slavonic  blood 
in  me  is  fairly  boiling!  But  I  would  advise  you 
to  be  extremely  cautious;  I  am  convinced  that 
you  are  being  watched.  The  spying  here  is  aw- 
ful! yesterday  a  suspicious  sort  of  man  ap- 
proached me  and  asked :    '  Are  j^ou  a  Russian  ? ' 

262 


ON  THE  EVE 

I  told  him  I  was  a  Dane.  .  .  .  But  you  must  be 
ill,  my  dearest  Nikanor  Vasilievitch.  You 
ought  to  take  a  course  of  treatment;  madame, 
you  ought  to  doctor  your  husband  ....  Yester- 
day, I  was  running  about  the  palaces  and  churches 
like  a  madman — you  have  been  in  the  Palace  of 
the  Doges,  of  course  ?  What  wealth  everywhere ! 
Especially  that  great  hall,  and  the  Place  of  Ma- 
rino Faliero;  there  it  stands:  decapitati  pro 
criminibus.  I  have  been  in  the  famous  prisons: 
that  's  where  my  soul  was  troubled — I  have  al- 
ways been  fond — as  perhaps  you  will  remem- 
ber— of  occupying  myself  with  social  problems, 
and  have  rebelled  against  the  aristocracy — that  's 
where  I  would  have  taken  the  defenders  of  the 
aristocracy:  to  those  prisons;  justly  did  Byron 
say:  '  I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  '; 
however,  he  was  an  aristocrat  too.  I  always  was 
for  progress.  The  young  generation  is  all  for 
progress.  But  how  about  the  Anglo-French? 
Let  us  see  whether  they  will  accomplish  much: 
Bustrapa  and  Palmerston.  Palmerston  has  be- 
come Prime  Minister,  you  know.  No, — whatever 
you  may  say,  a  Russian  usurer  is  no  joke.  That 
Bustrapa  is  a  frightful  scoundrel!  I  '11  give 
you  Victor  Hugo's  '  Les  Chatiments '  if  you 
would  like  it— it 's  wonderful!  '  UAvenir  le 
gendarme  de  Dieu'  is  rather  boldly  put— but 
it 's  strong,  strong.  Prince  Vyazemsky  also  said 
well :  '  Europe  keeps  reiterating :   Bash-Kadyk 

263 


ON  THE  EVE 

Lar,*  never  taking  its  eyes  from  Sinope! '  I  love 
poetry.  I  also  have  Prud'hon's  last  book,  I  have 
everything.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  it, 
but  I  am  glad  of  the  war,— if  only  they  don't 
order  me  home,  for  I  am  planning  to  go  from 
here  to  Florence — to  Rome:  it 's  impossible  to  go 
to  France— so  I  am  thinking  of  going  to  Spain 
— the  women  are  wonderful  there,  they  say,  only 
there  's  a  lot  of  poverty  and  insects.  I  would 
take  a  flying  trip  to  California, — we  Russians 
can  do  everything  without  an  effort, — only,  I 
promised  an  editor  that  I  would  study  in  detail 
the  question  of  commerce  in  the  Mediterranean. 
It  is  not  an  interesting  subject,  you  will  say, 
it  is  a  special  subject,  but  we  need — we  need  spe- 
cialists, we  have  philosophised  enough,  and  now 
we  must  have  practice,  practice.  .  .  .  But  you 
are  very  ill,  Nikanor  Vasilievitch,  perhaps  I  am 
tiring  you;  but  never  mind,  I  will  stay  a  little 
longer " 

And  Lupoyaroff  continued  to  chatter  on  in 
the  same  strain  for  a  good  while  longer,  and 
when  he  went  away  he  promised  to  come  again. 

Exhausted  by  the  unexpected  visit,  InsarofF 
lay  down  on  the  couch. — "  There," — he  said, 
with  a  glance  at  Elena,—"  there  's  our  young 
generation  for  you!     Some  of  them  put  on  airs 

1  Near  this  settlement  in  the  Government  of  Kars,  in  November, 
1853,  a  force  of  ten  thousand  Russian  troops  won  a  brilliant  victory 
over  a  force  of  thirty-six  thousand  Turks.  Sinope  was  the  scene 
of  another  victory  in  the  same  year.— Translator. 

264 


ON  THE  EVE 

of  dignity  and  show  off,  but  in  their  souls  they 
are  just  such  empty  whistlers  as  that  gentle- 
man." 

Elena  made  no  reply  to  her  husband:  at  that 
moment,  she  was  much  more  disquieted  over  In- 
sarofF's  feebleness  than  by  the  condition  of  the 
rising  generation  in  Russia.  .  .  .  She  seated 
herself  by  his  side,  and  took  up  her  work.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  lay  motionless,  all  pale  and 
gaunt.  Elena  glanced  at  his  sharply  outlined 
profile,  at  his  drawn  hands,  and  a  sudden  terror 
gripped  her  heart. 

"  Dmitry  .  .  .  ."  she  began. 

He  started.— "  Well,  has  Renditch  come?'* 

"  Not  yet  ....  but  thou  hast  fever,  thou 
really  art  not  quite  well,  shall  not  I  send  for  a 
doctor?    What  thinkest  thou?  " 

"  That  gabbler  has  alarmed  thee.  It  is  not 
necessary.  I  will  rest  a  little,  and  it  will  all  pass 
off.  After  dinner,  we  will  go  out  again  .... 
somewhere." 

Two  hours  passed.  .  .  .  Insaroff  still  lay  on 
the  couch,  but  could  not  get  to  sleep,  although 
he  did  not  open  his  eyes.  Elena  did  not  leave 
him:  she  dropped  her  work  on  her  knees,  and 
did  not  stir. 

'*  Why  dost  not  thou  go  to  sleep? "  she  asked 
him  at  last. 

"  Why,  here,  wait." — He  took  her  hand,  and 
laid  it  under  his  head. — "  There,  that  's  .  .  .  . 

265 


ON  THE  EVE 

good.  Wake  me  immediately,  when  Renditch 
comes.  If  he  says  that  the  vessel  is  ready,  we 
will  set  out  immediately.  .  .  .  Everything 
must  be  packed." 

"  It  will  not  take  long  to  pack,"  replied  Elena. 

"  But  that  man  babbled  about  a  battle,  about 
Servia," — said  Insaroff,  a  little  while  later. — 
"  He  must  have  invented  the  whole  of  it.  But  we 
must  go,  we  must.  We  must  lose  no  time.  .  .  . 
Be  ready." 

He  fell  asleep,  and  everything  became  silent 
in  the  room. 

Elena  leaned  her  head  against  the  back  of  her 
chair,  and  gazed  for  a  long  time  out  of  the  win- 
dow. The  weather  had  changed  for  the  worse; 
the  wind  had  risen.  Large,  white  clouds  were 
sweeping  swiftly  athwart  the  sky,  a  slender  mast 
was  swaying  in  the  distance,  a  long  pennant 
with  a  red  cross  rose  and  fell  incessantly,  rose 
and  fell  again.  The  pendulum  of  the  ancient 
clock  beat  heavily,  with  a  sort  of  mournful,  hiss- 
ing sound.  Elena  closed  her  eyes.  She  had 
slept  badly  all  night;  gradually  she  sank  into 
a  doze. 

She  dreamed  a  strange  dream.  It  seems  to 
her  that  she  is  floating  in  a  boat  on  the  Tzari- 
tzyn  pond,  with  some  people  whom  she  does  not 
know.  They  maintain  silence,  and  sit  motion- 
less; no  one  is  rowing;  the  boat  moves  along  of 
its  own  volition.    Elena  does  not  feel  afraid,  but 

266 


ON  THE  EVE 

she  finds  it  dull;  she  wants  to  discover  who  the 
people  are,  and  why  she  is  with  them.  She 
gazes,  the  pond  widens  out,  the  banks  disappear 
— it  is  no  longer  a  pond,  but  a  troubled  sea:  vast, 
azure,  silent  waves  rock  the  boat  majestically; 
something  rumbling  and  menacing  rises  from 
the  bottom;  her  unknown  fellow-travellers  sud- 
denly jump  up,  shout,  flourish  their  arms 

Elena  recognises  their  faces:  her  father  is  one 
of  them.  But  some  sort  of  a  white  whirlwind 
sweeps  over  the  waves  ....  everything  reels, 

grows  confused 

Elena  surveys  her  surroundings;  as  before, 
everything  round  about  is  white.  But  it  is  snow, 
snow,  a  boundless  expanse  of  snow.  And  she 
is  no  longer  in  a  boat,  she  is  driving  in  a  travel- 
ling-sledge, as  she  did  out  of  Moscow;  she  is 
not  alone :  by  her  side  sits  a  tiny  being,  wrapped 
up  in  an  old  sleeved  cloak.  Elena  scrutinises 
it  closely:  it  is  Katya,  her  poor  little  friend. 
Elena  grows  frightened.  "  Is  n't  she  dead? " 
she  thinks. 

"  Katya,  whither  are  thou  and  I  going? " 
Katya  makes  no  reply,  and  wraps  herself 
still  more  closely  in  her  miserable  little  cloak. 
Elena  feels  cold  also;  she  gazes  along  the  road: 
the  town  is  visible  far  away,  athwart  a  veil  of 
snow-dust, — the  lofty  white  towers  with  their 
silver  domes  .  .  .  .  "  Katya,  Katya,  is  this  Mos- 
cow? "    "  No,"  thinks  Elena,  "  it  is  the  Solovet- 

267 


ON  THE  EVE 

zk  Monastery :  ^  there  are  a  great  many  tiny, 
cramped  cells  there,  as  in  a  beehive;  it  is  stifling, 
crowded  there,— Dmitry  is  imprisoned  there.  I 
must  set  him  free  "  .  .  .  .  All  at  once,  a  gray, 
yawning  abyss  opens  in  front  of  her.  The  trav- 
elling-sledge falls,  Katya  laughs.  "  Elena, 
Elena!"  a  voice  from  the  chasm  makes  itself 
heard. 

"Elena!"  rang  distinctly  in  her  ears.  She 
raised  her  head  quickly,  turned  round,  and  was 
stupefied:  InsarofF,  white  as  snow — the  snow 
of  her  dream— had  half -raised  himself  from  the 
couch,  and  was  gazing  at  her  with  brilliant, 
dreadful  eyes.  His  hair  lay  dishevelled  on  his 
brow,  his  lips  were  open  in  a  strange  fashion. 
Horror,  mingled  with  a  sort  of  painful  emotion, 
was  expressed  on  his  suddenly  altered  face. 

"Elena!"— he  articulated;— "  I  am  dying." 

With  a  shriek  she  fell  upon  her  knees,  and 
pressed  herself  to  his  breast. 

"All  is  over!  "—repeated  InsaroiF:— "  I  am 
dying!  .  .  .  Farewell,  my  poor  child!  Fare- 
well, my  own  darling!"  .  .  . 

And  he  fell  back  at  full  length  on  the  couch. 

Elena  flew  out  of  the  room  and  began  to  call 
for  help ;  the  cameriere  ran  for  the  doctor.  Elena 
leaned  over  Insaroff*. 

At  that  moment,  on  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
a  broad-shouldered,  sun-burned  man  made  his 

1  In  the  White  Sea.— Traxslatoe. 

268 


ON  THE  EVE 

appearance,  clad  in  a  thick  frieze  coat  and  a 
low-crowned  oil-skin  hat.  He  halted  in  per- 
plexity. 

"  Renditch!  "—exclaimed  Elena— "it  is  you! 
Look,  for  God's  sake,  he  is  in  a  swoon!  What 
ails  him?  O  God!  O  God!  He  was  out  of  doors 
yesterday,  he  has  just  been  talking  to  me  .  .  .  ." 

Renditch  said  nothing,  and  merely  moved  aside. 
Past  him  slipped  briskly  a  tiny  figure  in  a  wig 
and  spectacles:  he  was  a  doctor  who  lived  in  the 
hotel.    He  went  up  to  InsarofF. 

"  Signora,"— he  said,  a  few  moments  later,— 
"  the  stranger  is  dead— il  signore  forestiere  e 
morto — from  an  aneurism,  coupled  with  a  mal- 
ady of  the  lungs." 


269 


XXXV 

On  the  following  day,  Renditch  was  standing 
at  the  window  of  that  same  room;  in  front  of 
him,  enveloped  in  a  shawl,  sat  Elena.  In  the 
adjoining  room,  InsarofF  was  lying  in  his  coffin. 
Elena's  face  was  both  terrified  and  inanimate; 
two  wrinkles  had  made  their  appearance  on  her 
forehead,  between  her  eyebrows:  they  imparted 
a  strained  expression  to  her  immovable  eyes. 
On  the  window-sill  lay  an  open  letter  from  Anna 
Vasilievna.  She  invited  her  daughter  to  come 
to  Moscow,  if  only  for  a  month,  complained  of 
her  loneliness,  of  Nikolai  Artemievitch,  sent  her 
regards  to  Insaroff,  inquired  about  his  health, 
and  begged  him  to  let  his  wife  come. 

Renditch  was  a  Dalmatian,  a  sailor,  with 
whom  Insaroff  had  become  acquainted  during 
his  journey  to  his  native  land,  and  whom  he  had 
hunted  up  in  Venice.  He  was  a  surly,  rough, 
old  man,  and  devoted  to  the  Slavonic  cause.  He 
despised  the  Turks,  and  hated  the  Austrians. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  remain  in 
Venice?  "  Elena  asked  him  in  Italian.  And  her 
voice  was  as  lifeless  as  her  face. 

*'  One  day,  in  order  to  take  on  freight,  and  not 

270 


ON  THE  EVE 

to  arouse  suspicion,  and  then  I  go  straight  to 
Zara.  I  shall  not  gladden  my  fellow-country- 
men. They  have  been  waiting  for  him  this  long 
while;  their  hopes  were  set  on  him." 

"  Their  hopes  were  set  on  him,"— repeated 
Elena  mechanically. 

"When  shall  you  bury  him?"  asked  Ren- 
ditch. 

Elena  did  not  reply  at  once.—"  To-morrow." 

"To-morrow?  I  will  remain:  I  wish  to  cast 
a  handful  of  earth  into  his  grave.  And  I  must 
help  you.  But  it  would  be  better  to  lay  him  in 
Slavonic  earth." 

Elena  glanced  at  Renditch. 

"  Captain,"— she  said,—"  take  me  with  him, 
and  carry  us  to  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  far 
away  from  here.    Can  it  be  done? " 

Renditch  reflected.—"  It  can,  only  it  will  be 
bothersome.  We  shall  have  trouble  with  the 
cursed  authorities  here.  But,  assuming  that  we 
can  arrange  all  that,  and  that  we  bury  him  yon- 
der; how  am  I  to  get  you  back  here? " 

"  You  need  not  bring  me  back." 

"What?    Where  will  you  stay?  " 

"  I  will  find  a  place  for  myself;  only  take  us— 
take  me." 

Renditch  scratched  the  back  of  his  head.— 
"  As  you  like,  but  this  is  all  very  bothersome.  I 
will  go  and  find  out :  and  do  you  await  me  here, 
a  couple  of  hours  hence." 

271 


ON  THE  EVE 

He  left  the  room.  Elena  passed  into  the  ad- 
joining chamber,  leaned  against  the  wall, 
and  stood  there  a  long  time,  as  though  she  had 
been  turned  to  stone.  Then  she  sank  on  her 
knees,  but  could  not  pray.  In  her  soul  there  was 
no  repining;  she  did  not  dare  to  ask  God  why 
He  had  not  spared,  why  He  had  not  shown  com- 
passion, had  not  saved;  why  He  had  chastised 
from  on  high  the  fault,  if  fault  there  had  been. 
Each  of  us  is  guilty  through  the  mere  fact  that 
he  lives,  and  there  is  no  thinker  so  great,  there 
is  no  benefactor  of  mankind  who,  by  virtue  of 
the  benefits  he  has  conferred,  can  rely  upon  the 
right  to  live  ....  But  Elena  could  not  pray: 
she  was  turned  to  stone. 

That  same  night,  a  broad  boat  rowed  away 
from  the  hotel  where  the  InsarofFs  had  resided. 
In  the  boat  sat  Elena  and  Renditch,  and  a  long 
box  stood  there  covered  with  a  black  cloth. 

They  sailed  for  about  an  hour,  and  finally 
reached  a  small,  two-masted  vessel  which  was 
riding  at  anchor  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  harbor. 
Elena  and  Renditch  boarded  the  vessel;  the  sail- 
ors carried  the  box  on  board.  About  midnight 
a  storm  arose,  but  by  early  morning  the  ship  had 
passed  the  Lido.  In  the  course  of  the  day  the 
storm  raged  with  frightful  violence,  and  the  ex- 
perienced sailors  in  the  offices  of  "  Lloyd's " 
shook  their  heads,  and  expected  nothing  good. 
The    Adriatic    Sea,    between    Venice,    Trieste, 

272 


ON  THE  EVE 

and   the   Dalmatian   shore,   is   extremely   dan- 
gerous. 

Three  weeks  after  Elena's  departure  from 
Venice,  Anna  Vasilievna  received  in  Moscow  the 
following  letter: 


(( 


My  dear  parents,  I  am  bidding  you  farewell  forever. 
You  will  never  see  me  more.  Dmitry  died  yesterday.  All 
is  at  an  end  for  me.  To-day  I  am  setting  out  for  Zara 
with  his  body.  I  shall  bury  him,  and  what  will  become  of 
me,  I  do  not  know !  But  I  have  no  longer  any  fatherland 
except  D's  fatherland.  An  insurrection  is  in  preparation 
there,  they  are  making  ready  for  war;  I  shall  go  as  a 
sister  of  mercy :  I  shall  nurse  the  sick,  the  wounded.  I 
do  not  know  what  will  become  of  me,  but  even  after 
Dmitry's  death  I  shall  remain  faithful  to  his  memory,  to 
his  life''s  work.  I  have  learned  Bulgarian  and  Servian. 
Probably  I  shall  not  survive  all  this — so  much  the  better. 
I  have  been  brought  to  the  verge  of  the  abyss,  and  must 
fall  in.  Not  in  vain  did  Fate  unite  us:  perhaps  I  killed 
him,  who  knows ;  now  it  is  his  turn  to  draw  me  after  him. 
I  sought  happiness — and  perchance  I  shall  find  death. 
Evidently,  so  it  had  to  be;  evidently,  there  was  a  fault 
....  But  death  palliates  and  reconciles  all  things, — 
does  it  not  ?  Forgive  me  for  all  the  sorrow  I  have  caused 
you:  it  was  against  my  will.  But  why  should  I  return 
to  Russia  ?     What  is  there  to  do  in  Russia  ? 

'  'Accept  my  last  kisses  and  blessings,  and  do  not  con- 
demn me."  E. 

About  five  years  have  passed  since  then,  and 
no  further  news  has  arrived  of  Elena.    All  let- 

273 


ON  THE  EVE 

ters  and  inquiries  have  been  fruitless:  in  vain 
did  Nikolai  Artemievitch  himself,  after  the  con- 
clusion of  peace,  travel  to  Venice — to  Zara;  in 
Venice  he  learned  what  is  already  known  to  the 
reader,  but  in  Zara  no  one  could  give  him  any 
decisive  information  concerning  Renditch  and 
the  vessel  which  he  had  hired.  Obscure  rumours 
were  in  circulation,  to  the  effect  that,  several 
years  previously,  the  sea,  after  a  violent  storm, 
had  cast  up  on  the  shore  a  coffin  in  which  had 
been  found  the  corpse  of  a  man  ....  Accord- 
ing to  other,  more  trustworthy  information,  the 
coffin  in  question  had  not  been  cast  up  by  the 
sea  at  all,  but  had  been  brought  and  interred 
close  to  the  shore  by  a  foreign  lady  who  had 
come  from  Venice;  some  persons  added  that 
that  lady  had  afterward  been  seen  in  Herze- 
govina with  the  army  which  was  then  assem- 
bling; they  even  described  her  attire,  black  from 
head  to  foot.  At  any  rate,  all  trace  of  Elena  has 
vanished  forever  and  irretrievably,  and  no  one 
knows  whether  she  is  still  alive,  whether  she  is 
hiding  herself  somewhere,  or  whether  the  little 
game  of  life  has  already  come  to  an  end,  whether 
the  slight  fermentation  is  ended,  and  death's  turn 
has  come.  It  sometimes  happens  that  a  man,  on 
awaking,  will  ask  himself,  with  involuntary 
terror:—"  Can  it  be  that  I  am  already  thirty . . . 
forty  ....  fifty  years  of  age?     How  has  life 

274 


ON  THE  EVE 

passed  so  swiftly?  How  has  death  approached 
so  near? "  Death  is  hke  a  fisherman  who  has 
caught  a  fish  in  his  net,  and  leaves  it  there  for 
a  while  in  the  water:  the  fish  still  swims,  but  the 
net  is  about  it,  and  the  fisherman  will  haul  it  in — 
when  he  sees  fit. 

What  has  become  of  the  other  personages  of 
our  story? 

Anna  Vasilievna  is  still  alive;  she  has  aged 
greatly  since  the  blow  which  overtook  her;  she 
grumbles  less,  but  grieves  much  more.  Nikolai 
Artemievitch  also  has  grown  old  and  gray,  and 
has  parted  from  Augustina  Christianovna.  .  .  . 
He  now  curses  everything  foreign.  His  house- 
keeper, a  handsome  woman,  a  Russian,  thirty 
years  of  age,  goes  about  in  silken  gowns,  and 
wears  gold  finger-rings  and  earrings.  Kurna- 
tovsky,  like  a  man  with  a  temperament,  and  in 
his  quality  of  an  energetic  dark-complexioned 
person,  an  admirer  of  fair-haired  women,  has 
married  Zoya;  he  keeps  her  in  strict  subjection, 
and  she  has  even  ceased  to  think  in  German. 
BersenefF  is  in  Heidelberg:  he  was  sent  abroad 
at  the  expense  of  the  Government;  he  has  vis- 
ited Berlin  and  Paris,  and  is  not  wasting  his 
time;  he  will  turn  out  a  clever  philosopher.  The 
learned  public  has  taken  notice  of  his  articles 
"  Concerning  certain  Peculiarities  of  the   Old 

275 


ON  THE  EVE 

Germanic  Law,  in  the  Matter  of  Judicial  Punish- 
ments" and  "  Concerning  the  Significance  of 
the  Town  Principle  in  the  Question  of  Civili- 
sation"; only  it  is  a  pity  that  both  articles 
should  be  written  in  rather  a  heavy  style  and 
mottled  with  foreign  words.  Shiibin  is  in  Rome ; 
he  has  consecrated  himself  wholly  to  his  art,  and 
is  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and 
promising  of  the  young  sculptors.  Strict  tour- 
ists think  that  he  has  not  sufficiently  studied  the 
ancients,  that  he  has  not  "  style,"  and  reckon 
him  as  belonging  to  the  French  school;  he  has 
multitudes  of  orders  from  the  English  and  the 
Americans.  One  of  his  bacchantes  created 
a  great  sensation  recently;  the  Russian  Count 
Boboshkin,  the  well-known  plutocrat,  was  on 
the  point  of  purchasing  it  for  one  thousand 
scudi,  but  preferred  to  give  three  thousand  to 
another  sculptor,  a  Frenchman  pur  sang^  for  a 
group  representing  "  A  young  Peasant-girl  dy- 
ing of  love  on  the  breast  of  the  Genius  of 
Spring."  Shubin  now  and  then  corresponds 
with  Uvar  Ivanovitch,  who  alone  has  not 
changed  in  the  least  or  in  any  way.  "  Do  you 
remember,"  he  wrote  to  him,  lately,  "  what  you 
said  to  me  on  the  night  when  poor  Elena's  mar- 
riage became  known,  when  I  was  sitting  on  your 
bed  and  chatting  with  you?  Do  you  remember, 
how  I  asked  you  then  whether  there  would  be 
men  among  us,  and  you  answered  me :    *  There 

276 


ON  THE  EVE 

will.'  O  black  -  earth  force !  And  now,  here, 
from  this  place,  from  my  '  most  beautiful  dis- 
tance,' once  more  I  ask  you:— Well,  how  now, 
Uvar  Ivanovitch,  will  there  be  any? " 

Uvar  Ivanovitch  wiggled  his  fingers,  and  riv- 
eted his  enigmatic  gaze  on  the  distance. 


277 


Z'^^  T  'i  -^^ 


A  A      000  338  362    7 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 

DEC  01 1972 

NOV      7  197? 

UtU  08  1972 

WOV  2  7  fifcu 

*?9 

UCSD  Libr. 

